Gravity
by SquirrelWho
Summary: It begins with a woman and a seemingly invisible creature, but by the end of the evening Sherlock realizes that this woman, Rose Tyler, might be the most extraordinary person he's ever met. Unfortunately, Rose, can't allow a complication like Sherlock Holmes, but even after erasing his memory he keeps finding his way back into her life, of course, that's her fault too. (RoseLock)
1. The Case

This is something I've been working on off and on for a while. I was going to put it up a while ago, but I decided to wait until after the third series aired so I could make any adjustments, which is what I was doing yesterday. I've got a few chapters done for this so I'll get them up, probably one a day while I work on the other stories. :)

Rose's character is a bit more mature, but still fun loving in this. Think end of series 4 with some adjustments for the few years since.

For more RoseLock stories check out TheWheelWeaves and TempestinTime for some brilliant RoseLock stories. :)

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John stood up, taking the champagne from the waiter.

"Allow me," he said, tipping the man who took the hint and walked off.

He caught Mary's gaze, giving her a smile she returned. At that moment his pocket chimed, but he ignored it pouring her a glass. Another chime. He poured his glass. Another chime.

"Are you going to get that?" Mary asked.

He cleared his throat in irritation as he sat the champagne in the ice bucket, another chime, and reached into his pocket. He knew who it was, who it always was, but tonight wasn't about Sherlock and some stupid case. Tonight was his and Mary's first year anniversary and he refused to let it be ruined.

He set his phone to silent, stuffed it back in his pocket and then resumed his seat and lifted his glass, clearing his throat. She lifted hers.

"To my wife," he began. She smiled. "You are the most beautiful, wonderful, patient-"

"John! Mary! Thank god," Sherlock interrupted, walking over to their table.

The detective took an extra chair from another table and carried it over, seeming to have noticed there were only two chairs at John and Mary's table, which was for a reason. One he hadn't grasped.

John rolled his eyes and sighed, lowering his glass as he gave Mary an apologetic look.

Sherlock sat the chair down, flopped into it, and sighed.

"Sherlock," John said, trying to hold back his irritation as he tried to eye his friend, which was impossible as Sherlock's eyes roved around the room.

"Mm?" his friend asked.

"It's our one year anniversary."

"Technically, yesterday was your one year anniversary," Sherlock dismissed.

He glanced over the patrons. He needed a case, something, anything to occupy his mind. He'd sat at his flat for three hours before finally getting dressed and wondering the streets until he found his way to John and Mary's. They were out and for some reason John wouldn't answer his texts, but their lock was easy enough to pick, a quick rifle through a few drawers and he knew where they were, which had taken all of fifteen minutes. Then the trip here and now he was bored again.

"Yes, but we didn't get to celebrate yesterday on account of the body, remember?" John asked.

He ignored the irritation in his friend's voice.

"Mm," he said, focusing on…what?

What the hell was that? He scanned the room, looking for anyone else who had noticed what he had. No one. Not one other person glanced in that direction.

"Sherlock, are you even listening to me?" John snapped.

"Who's that?" he asked, nodding toward the…whatever it was.

"Who?" his friend asked irritably, glancing in the direction Sherlock indicated. "The couple, the woman reading the book, or the old bloke near the window?"

"The other one."

"What other one?" John turned back to him. "If this is some kind of game I don't want any part in it. Can't you just-"

"Mary?" Sherlock asked, glancing at her.

She gave a look.

"I only see four people. Why? What do you see?" she asked, giving him a curious glance.

"I see…" Sherlock said, standing up and straightening his suit. "My date. Sorry, John, Mary, if you'll excuse me."

"Date?" John exclaimed as his friend walked off. He glanced at Mary for confirmation. "Did he just say date?"

"That's what I heard," she replied.

They both turned and watched Sherlock weave his way across the room to a table near one of the large windows overlooking the city. It was the table where the woman sat reading a book. She wore a long red, sleeveless dress powdered with white roses. Her hair hung a few inches down her back, wavy golden blonde. The top layer was pulled back and held in a clasp while the bottom layer was free to fall down her back and over her shoulders. John had no idea what Sherlock thought he was doing, but he couldn't wait to find out. He glanced at Mary and saw the same curiosity in her eyes.

Rose picked up her champagne and took a sip as she reread one of her favorite books. A collection of stories by Charles Dickens. She saved it for her yearly celebration. An anniversary of sorts, marking the day her life changed in the basement of Henrik's Department Store. It'd changed so much, much more than she could've imagined. She wasn't the nineteen year old shop girl and she wasn't the Doctor's Rose. She stopped being that person six years ago. Nor was she the human Doctor's Rose.

They had a relationship and it'd been great, brilliant…until it wasn't. They fell out, row's that could be heard half a block away. He wasn't like the Doctor, not exactly. There was a lot of Donna in him and she tried to love him for who he was, but he looked like the Doctor and after a while it became too much work for both of them. In the end they split, better friends than lovers.

She felt bad. He was her responsibility after all, but he met a woman. A parallel version of Sarah Jane. Rose was happy for them, even went to their wedding. Last she heard they moved to a little village called Leadworth, bought a cottage. Sometimes he called and they'd talk about the old days, which really weren't his old days, but he remembered. Those calls were few and far between, growing scarcer as the years passed.

That's why she jumped at the chance to test the dimension cannon when they were working on the bridge. Of course she hadn't counted on the bridge collapsing, being stuck in a parallel universe alone. Well, not entirely alone. Her dad wouldn't let her jump on her own.

She glanced at Frank out of the corner of her eye, her dad's idea of a bodyguard, keeping her gaze seemingly affixed to the book in her hands. _Frank _wasn't really his name…his? She wasn't even sure about that, but he was wearing a suit, black with a red tie, same one he always wore. He couldn't speak, or at least if he could she'd never heard him, but he was telepathic, a bit telepathic. She could sense what he felt. Although most of the time he just felt…okay, was the best way to put it. Not happy, not sad, not upset…just okay.

He still seemed...okay so she returned her gaze to the page, taking another sip of champagne as she got to the part in _A Christmas Carol _about Jacob's ghost appearing in the knocker, which always reminded her of the look on Charles' face when the Gelth were circling the table during that séance and she couldn't help laughing and not the soft laughter that a restaurant this posh was used to, but the whole hearted, grab your stomach laugh that would always be an innate part of her. She nearly sloshed her champagne in the process, but managed to set it down before she caused any damage.

"May I join you?" a deep male voice asked, the speaker taking the empty seat without waiting for a reply.

She glanced up and was struck by the sight before her. Dark curls of hair, high cheek bones, slender, but well muscled. If the word beautiful could be used to describe a man then that word belonged to him. Years of traveling with the Doctor and then working for Torchwood wouldn't allow her to stop there though. He was posh, held himself straight, not erect, the difference told her he was arrogant, felt very highly about himself, Very Highly. The words capitalizing as she took in his suit, calculating gaze, and the way he held himself. TROUBLE. The entire word capitalizing, telling her that any association with this man was likely to change things. For the good or bad she couldn't say. It was too early to know. She could see a similar assessment of her going on behind his eyes and that's when she noticed the uniqueness of his eyes. Blue, electrifying like her first Doctor, but the pupils were surrounded in a starburst of yellow.

Sherlock crossed the room toward the creature…genetic experiment…alien. Wouldn't that be interesting? He didn't know what it was, the only thing he knew for sure was that there were only two people in the restaurant who could see it. Him being one and the woman sitting at the table nearest it being the other. He could see the slight tensing in her muscles as she glanced in the creature's direction. She wasn't afraid. She knew that it was there and what's more she knew what it was. A woman and an invisible creature, well, invisible to most. It was a case he couldn't pass up.

He looked her over as he crossed the room. Her movements, her clothing spoke of wealth and status. She was alone, but she didn't appear to be waiting for anyone. In fact she seemed to be avoiding everyone. The book told him that. Restaurants were for conversation not reading. The glass of champagne told him she was celebrating. Celebrating alone at a restaurant with a book. An anniversary perhaps? Dead husband? No, the only jewelry she wore was a single ring, but not worn on her ring finger and it was…plastic? Pink and blue.

At that moment she burst out laughing, euphoric laughter and it gave him pause. Not something someone of her wealth and status would partake in, especially in public. She appeared to be laughing at a passage she found particularly humorous. He glanced at the page as he drew up to her table. The title of the book appeared at the top. Collective Works of Charles Dickens.

"May I join you?" he asked, pulling out the empty chair and sitting down as he unbuttoned his jacket.

She glanced at him and he offered a smile she returned. She seemed taken with him, he'd seen that look before, and then she did something completely unexpected and highly interesting. She observed him. He watched the calculations flicker behind her eyes, the deductions, as she gazed over him. His smile widened as he ran his own assessment.

Blonde hair a few shades lighter than her original, high end salon. Clothes, shoes, make-up…posh. Mannerisms suggested higher social status, but there were flaws, very slight and probably wouldn't be picked up by anyone else, but to him they suggested she hadn't always held the status. Slight scar under her right eye, faint scars on her arms, not many, but a few, suggestive of defensive wounds. Soldier's wounds. All of them at least six months old. Suggesting she'd received some sort of military training, but she hadn't seen combat for a few months. Intelligent. Obvious from her reading material and ability to observe. She was alone. No family, friends, lovers. SECRETS. The entire word capitalizing to indicate a large quantity. Traveler. The word capitalizing to indicate a great distance and a great many places. Everything pointed to one conclusion. Undercover secret service, even without the creature in the room, which must be some government experiment. Something along the lines of Baskerville.

Satisfied in his deduction he returned his gaze to hers and found her looking into his eyes. Their gazes locked and for a moment time seemed to stop. The restaurant, the people, even the creature vanished.

"Can I get you anything?" a waiter asked, breaking the spell.

He blinked as his mind tried to work out what the hell just happened.

_Oh bollocks, _Rose thought as she blinked, coming out of…what the hell ever that was. This was bad, _really extremely not good _her mind continued, throwing off her carefully crafted pretenses. The ones that took six month of training to create. TROUBLE. Her mind reminded her. _Don't rub it in,_ she thought.

"No, thank you, I was on my way out," she said, hurrying to her feet as she snatched her pocketbook off the table.

The man who invited himself to her table stood, in that polite response sort of way, but she kept her gaze purposely averted. Her mind was still busy trying to work out exactly how he managed to hold her gaze like that. She opened her pocketbook and fished out her card, but the moment she retrieved it the man had his out.

"Allow me," he offered. "Unless your friend's paying."

Wait. What? She froze, just for a moment before recovering.

"Friend?" she asked, as if she hadn't the faintest idea what he was referring to.

"Your friend," he repeated, his eyes traveling directly to Frank.

He could see Frank, but he shouldn't be able to, not with the perception filter. TROUBLE. _Bollocks! _

"I can pay my own way," she replied, her speech pattern slipping a bit in her need to get the hell out of there and away from that bloke who was a truck full of trouble with an extra bag thrown on top.

He didn't know her name. All he had was a face. If she was careful. Got out of there quickly she could disappear and he'd never see her again. She handed over her credit card, but he took that moment to force his over and in the next moment both cards, the tray the waiter carried and the two menus fell to the floor.

"My apologies," the bloke said, bending down and helping the waiter. He stood up and handed her credit card over. "I'm sorry if I caused you any undue discomfort. That wasn't my intention."

"I appreciate your apology," she replied, falling back into her disguise.

"It was truly delightful to make your acquaintance," he said and then turned and walked across the restaurant toward the door.

She stood there for a moment watching him, trying to work out what just happened. The waiter took her card and when he returned she still hadn't figured out what happened.

"Thank you Mrs. Holmes," the waiter said.

"Sorry?" she asked, but he hurried off to a table, obviously without hearing her.

_Mrs. Holmes? _She glanced at the card in her hand.

"Oh bollocks!" she exclaimed.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	2. Turning The Tables

You know my motto...first chaps get lonely. :)

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Of all the parallel universes that bridge could've led to it just had to lead to the one where Sherlock Holmes wasn't a fictional character, but a real life person. So, of course she had to pique his interest her first week in London, well, this London. She'd spent the last seven months in Norway, that being the location of the rift in this universe, the next town over from _that _beach, well, a parallel version. She'd laughed, actually laughed. That was the universe, cosmically funny…or sarcastic. Depending on the angle.

There was only one thing to do. Fix this and fast. She headed out of the restaurant and down the first dark alley she could find. Then she pulled out her transporter, slapped it on her wrist, told Frank to head home, and, teleported to her flat. She could've brought him along, but she wanted to occupy him while she took care of Sherlock. She grabbed her laptop, ran a quick search, _damn _he was everywhere, hell, he even had his own website _The Science of Deduction_, how did she miss that? She located his address, then retrieved a few supplies from her safe and teleported to his flat.

It was a simple portable teleporter worn on the wrist like a vortex manipulator, but could only teleport within the same time and space. So, no off world teleporting or time travel. The human Doctor…_John_, she reminded herself, the name he took for Sarah, he developed it soon after the Doctor marooned them on Pete's World. She let those thoughts go, focusing on the task at hand, removing the transporter and stuffing it back in her pocketbook.

Sherlock had to get there the old fashioned way, which would take another, she glanced at her watch, five minutes or so, depending on the traffic. She stepped into the kitchen and put the kettle on while she waited. Then she opened his refrigerator…glanced at the severed hand and bag of…she poked it…toes…shook her head and pulled out the milk. He was definitely different, not at all like anyone else. She opened the milk and added the clear liquid from the small vial. She gave the milk a swirl and then set it back. She put the empty vial into her pocketbook and walked into the living room, removing her shoes as she sat down in the red pattern chair. At that moment the sound of the downstairs door opening and then closing announced his arrival. She checked the time. She had exactly one hour seven minutes to fix this.

"Sherlock, can you have a look at-" an older woman, began.

"Not now, Mrs. Hudson. In the middle of a case," he interrupted.

Rose smiled. She dropped all manner of pretence, since pretending didn't really matter anymore. She sighed. Just once. Allowing the tinge of regret, wishing things were different, but they weren't. She had to be careful and Sherlock Holmes was a complication she couldn't afford.

The door flew open as he hurried into the room, but abruptly stopped a moment later. His eyes falling on the woman sitting in John's chair, knees bent, legs tucked under her, feet to the side, red dress brushed with white roses billowing around her, looking completely comfortable as she gave him a Cheshire-like grin.

"And what sort of time do you call this?" she asked.

Dumbfounded. That was the look he wore and she couldn't help grinning.

Sherlock took in the woman sitting in John's chair. Rose Tyler, according to her credit card, but he suspected that was an alias. Government agents didn't go around flouting their actual name, but getting into Mycroft's files was something he did for fun when he was bored so he knew it'd be easy enough to find some information on her.

He knew she'd find him, but switching their cards was the quickest way to get her information. She'd been about to leave and he couldn't let her get away without something. He hadn't expected her to find him this fast. How she managed to get here before him was something his mind was unable to answer, but there she was, proof that she'd beat him…for now.

He smiled, an actual smile because she was good. He closed the door, removed his coat and scarf, hanging them near the door. He turned around, glancing at her.

"Tea?" he asked.

"I'll take a cuppa, kettle should've boiled," she replied. "I don't take milk though."

South London accent, all mannerisms and false speech patterns dropped. South London? How had he missed that? He shoved those questions aside as he stepped into the kitchen and made two cups. He returned a few minutes later and handed her a cup. She took it and then held out her hand, raising her brow. He pulled her card out and handed it over then motioned for her to do the same, which she did. He slid his card into his pocket and took a seat across from her.

"How?" he asked after a minute.

She shrugged.

"Phoned a friend."

He caught the joke and returned the smile she wore.

"Speaking of friends…"

Her friend from the restaurant seemed to be absent.

"I sent him home, at least I think he went home." Sherlock raised his brow. She grinned. "He'll turn up."

"Who is he?"

"I don't know his real name, but I call him Frank."

"Frank?" Sherlock asked, quirking a brow.

"'S the name of a bloke I used to work with, bit of an inside joke. One of those, had to be there things."

She found Frank on a Torchwood call, basement of Henrik's Department Store, only on Pete's World it was called Henry's. There were a swarm of large beetle like creatures attacking him. She saved him and he kind of stuck. Pretty much never left her side unless she told him to.

"What is he?" Sherlock asked.

"No idea. I mean, alien, obviously, but which planet, solar system, universe…" she shrugged. "I don't know and he's not talking so…"

She took a drink of tea. Her offhanded answer took him completely by surprise. Using the words _alien, planet, solar system, and universe _as if it were everyday. He ran back over her with his eyes, reevaluating his observations, looking for any hint of a mental disorder that he missed, but he came up empty.

"Alien?" he asked.

"What'd you think he was, some kind of government experiment?" she joked, laughing, but stopped when she glanced at him. "Really?" He quirked his brow. She rolled her eyes. "They've just started human cloning, yeah? Creating something like Frank. I mean, that's at least couple centuries off."

He blinked and then realized his mouth was slightly agape. He lowered his cup, having been about to take a drink for the past few minutes.

"Who are you?" the question coming out a bit more demanding than he intended, but his mind had finally given up his initial deduction as too flawed to compute, which irritated him. He was usually wrong about something, but every sentence she uttered scratched off one more deduction.

"You had my credit card the entire ride back and you didn't even glance at my name?" she asked.

"Rose Tyler is obviously an alias."

"Why would I have an alias?"

"Covert agents don't use their real names."

She laughed so hard she nearly dropped her cup and actually did spill some of the tea on her dress, but that didn't stop her. She managed to set the cup down before she snorted.

"Shut up!" Sherlock shouted, angry at the implications of her laugh.

That he wasn't just a bit wrong, he was completely wrong.

"Don't get sore at me because you thought I was someone else. 'S not my fault," she said, still chuckling. She wiped the tears from her eyes that had leaked out during her laugh.

Sherlock reigned in his anger. It would do him no good, actually it was bound to make him slip up and he couldn't have that. He needed to focus every part of his mental process. He noted the way she glanced at her watch as she wiped her eyes, as if she were trying to hide her actions. He replayed their conversation and realized she'd glanced at her watch no less than five times during their conversation.

"Expecting someone?" he asked.

Her eyes shot to his. He smiled, standing up and walking to the door, pulled it open, hurried down the stairs, threw the bolt on the front door then hurried back up, ignoring Mrs. Hudson as she stepped into the hall, stepped back into his flat and threw that bolt as well.

"There now," he said, turning around and eyeing her. "No interruptions. Also," he pulled out his phone. "I've got Lestrade on speed dial."

Satisfied that whoever her friend or friends were they wouldn't be interrupting their chat he stepped over to the side table, sat his phone down next to his chair, within easy reach once he was sitting. Then he stepped in front of her, grabbed the sides of John's chair and pulled it over as close to his as he could manage and still have room to sit.

"What're you doing?" she demanded, seeming a bit ruffled by the experience.

"Getting to the truth," he replied, resuming his seat. "Now," he held his hand out and indicated that she should give him hers. She quirked her brow. "If you don't mind and even if you do." She allowed him to take her hand, though she didn't seem happy about it, which was fine with him. "Who are you?"

He watched her expression for any tells while keeping his thumb on her pulse.

"My name is Rose Tyler, just like on the card. It's not an alias it's my name."

It took her a moment to realize what he was doing. She could feel his thumb over her pulse. Human lie detector. She'd read about that sort of thing. She wasn't planning on lying anyway. There really wasn't any point trying, not with who he was and with her plan, well, it didn't much matter how much he knew.

"And what do you do for a living?" he asked.

"I don't think you could call what I do a job," she said.

Second question asked, second answer given, both truths. He'd seen the way she glanced at their hands, recognition of his technique passing behind her hazel eyes. She knew what he was doing, probably knew it was futile to lie, didn't mean she wouldn't try, but it meant she'd save her attempts for the more dangerous questions.

"Then what is it that you do?"

"I suppose you could say I help people."

Help people? What did that mean? What people? Covert agents, most likely, believed the same thing.

"What people?"

She grinned.

"Aliens."

He paused. It was the truth. That or she was the best liar to come out of England. He didn't want to believe it. His mind tried to refuse her answer, but he couldn't deny that there had been absolutely no change in her pulse, not flicker in her eyes that told him she was lying. He forged ahead.

"So, you help aliens?" he inquired.

If it was true it'd be the most interesting thing he'd ever heard.

"Mostly," she replied. He quirked his brow. "Some aren't what you'd call friendly."

"What do you with them?"

"I…" she averted her gaze. Her pulse didn't change, but he could feel her discomfort. "I make sure they can't hurt anyone else."

True. She hunted aliens like he hunted criminals. He pulled back the smile that wanted to surface. How had she come across this knowledge, knowledge that had eluded him until this evening?

"How did you find out about all this?"

She grinned.

"That's a much longer story than I'm willing to tell, but the short answer is I met someone who opened my eyes, showed me that the universe isn't flat."

He smiled at that.

"But you're alone now."

The light behind her eyes dimmed a bit and he found it disconcerting, then shoved that feeling aside. It would do him no good.

"I am."

She seemed so alone in that moment that he almost stopped in his inquisition, but he forced himself to forge ahead.

"What happened?"

"I made a choice. I chose to leave. I didn't know I'd wind up stuck here, but new universe, new world, new life," she replied with a shrug.

"Sorry…what?" he exclaimed, his mind grappling with the implications of her words.

_New universe, new world, new life. _What the hell did that even mean?

"This," she said, indicating the room, but more than the room. "Isn't my universe…or it wasn't, suppose it is now."

_Traveler. _The word whispered through his mind. She wasn't lying. She was telling the truth. A woman, _not of this universe_, specially trained, living in London, hiding beneath her carefully crafted socialite shell hunting aliens among the ordinary. It was possibly…no undoubtedly the most extraordinary thing he'd ever come across. He blinked, forcing his mind to start moving again as it had paused at the realization.

"If you're from another universe then how did you get here?" he asked, wanting to make sense of her situation.

"They were working on a bride to connect the universe I was in with another," she said, shifting her legs to the floor as she sat forward, drawing herself closer to him. "Our scientists had been working on it, but it needed testing, a test run of sorts. I volunteered."

He couldn't help marveling at the way her eyes seemed to shine with an inner light as she spoke about bridges and universes. He shook himself, shoving those thoughts aside.

"And you crossed this bridge from one universe to the other," he replied.

"Sort of. I mean, it wasn't really a bridge. There's this gap, not a crack, those are dangerous, it's like a natural gap, we call it the rift. Other universes have one. It's sort of a like a natural flaw. Sometimes things fall in, sometimes people and they can wind up anywhere. Sometimes they come back, sometimes they don't. That's what gave us the idea. A way to stabilize it. Determine where it leads and it worked," she explained.

"But now you're trapped," he deduced.

"I can't get back, but I don't look at it like that," she said.

It was the truth. Most people would feel trapped in that situation…then again, most people wouldn't be in that situation, but she didn't feel that way.

"If you spend your time hunting down aliens then why the pretence?"

"You know the art of disguise as well as I do Sherlock Holmes," she replied, her lips drawing into a grin that could only be described as cheeky, the tip of her pink tongue poking out. It was Very distracting.

He hadn't seen through her disguise, but he had seen something she was trying to hide. That's why she broke into his flat, but what was she after?

"Did you come here to ask me to keep your secret?" he inquired, his eyes darting to her lips as he found his mind wondering what they felt like, what they tasted like. He prided himself on his ability to detect differences. Mercury in chocolate, whether a person used one or two types of deodorant, identifying the type of perfume that clung to a room, even after the suspect had left.

"I know _of_ you, but I don't know you, not who you are in here," she said, reaching out with her free hand and placing it over his heart.

One touch was all it took for his body to catch up with his mind's musings. He took her arm and pulled her closer, pressing his lips against the softness of hers.

Rose's mind exploded. Shock first, she hadn't expected this, _really extremely hadn't expected this_. The shock only lasted for a moment and then her entire body seemed to melt at his touch. His lips were soft, caressing hers. Her hand wove around the back of his neck, tangling in his dark curls as she allowed him to deepen the kiss. Although, allow implies she had a choice and her body wasn't giving her a choice in the matter. TROUBLE. Her mind reminded her, but she told it to sod off for now. She had a plan so none of _this _really mattered and, god, it had been too long since she felt like this.

Sherlock catalogued the soft feel of her lips. Unlike and yet not unlike others. Familiar and yet uniquely her own. The taste though, entirely different. His mind tried to work out a word to describe it. A wild, sweet, unique word. There was one, but it was strange, yet it was the only word that fit. _Stardust. _Wild and raw and sweet. Something that held the makings of the cosmos, but the power to tear down a world.

DANGER, her mind screamed, mentally slapping her to get her to realize how close she was to losing control. She couldn't allow that. She pulled away, breathing hard from the kiss, the excitement, and the responses he elicited in her body. Responses she hadn't felt in years, but she couldn't allow.

She could feel his eyes on her, watching her, but she could also hear the pattern of his breathing, hear that he too had almost lost himself. She should've known she'd be drawn to him, the most extraordinary man in this universe. How could she not be?

He could see her trying to regain control, control that he, himself, had almost lost. She was so unlike anything he'd ever come across, anything he could've imagined possible. The word _woman _was much too ordinary to describe her. _Stardust. _A strange word to describe another person, but that's what she was, like stardust. _Rose Tyler. _Not a lie, but an extraordinary truth. A truth hidden in plain sight.

He cupped her cheek, lifting her gaze to his, watching the emotions churn behind her hazel eyes. She reached up, resting her hand over his.

"Who are you?" he asked, not asking her name or vocation, but how she could exist.

"No one," she replied, raising her other hand that appeared to have some sort of dust in it, ash perhaps.

She hated what she was about to do, but she didn't have a choice. The sedative in the milk would've been better, no after effects, but he hadn't touched his tea and with three minutes to go this was her only other option.

In one movement she lifted it between them and blew it into his face. He had enough time to reason that it wasn't normal dust, that the qualities would allow her escape, that nothing about her told him she would harm him, and that this was an act to save herself. All of that passed through his mind as he slouched back in the chair, falling into unconsciousness.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	3. Forgetful Detectives

The door banged open, invading Sherlock's mind. He cracked his eyes open and groaned. He felt like he had after John's bachelor party.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, much too loudly.

He heard his friend cross the room toward him, but he was too busy trying to work out why he felt the way he did. Only, his mind was sluggish, groggy. He blinked. Morning and the light was far too bright. A moment later fingers appeared in front of him as John snapped twice.

"Sherlock," John insisted.

The detective swung his hand out to push his friend's fingers away, but completely missed as John stood up.

"Jesus, Sherlock, are you on again?"

"No, John," he replied, trying to stand up and finding that nearly impossible as he flopped back in the chair. _What the hell happened? _"I'm not on anything."

"Yeah, right. And I'm supposed to believe that?"

"I really don't care what you believe," he snapped, rubbing his face with his hands in an effort to shake off whatever this was.

Drugged. Must have been, but by who? And why?

"Come on then," John said, grabbing his arm and pulling him from the chair.

Sherlock stumbled and then angrily pushed his friend away.

"I haven't taken anything," he yelled. "At least, not willingly."

"Sorry?"

His friend paused, eyeing him.

"Just…shut up and give me a minute, would you?"

He flopped back down in his chair. John sat down across from him. He could feel his friend's eyes on him, but he ignored that, going over the events of last night.

"I was here, in the flat, bored after having solved that art theft case. I…" his mind was still groggy, but he was coming out of it, His sharply honed skills shaking off the effects of whatever he'd been given. "I checked the blog…phoned Lestrade…checked the paper…then I…sent you a text, then another. I stopped by your flat, broke in-"

"What? You broke into our flat?"

"You weren't answering my texts, how else was I supposed to find out where you were?"

John sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Fine. What'd you do after that?"

"I…" Sherlock trailed off, his mind coming up blank. Completely blank. Not like when he'd been drugged by the woman and he still retained the memories, a bit blurred around the edges at first. Or when he used and his memories were blurred out, but still there. This time there was nothing there, no, that wasn't right, there was an absence. A loss of memory. Something that should've been there, but wasn't. "I don't know."

"Well, obviously you figured out where we were. Probably went rifling through our drawers," John grumbled in irritation.

"Sorry?" he asked, eyeing his friend.

"You were there, weren't you? Completely ignoring the fact that we were on a date, our anniversary date."

"I was there?"

John glanced at him, seeming to catch the look Sherlock wore.

"You don't remember?"

"After breaking into your flat my memory ceases, not resuming until you woke me just a few minutes ago."

"But…you were fine at the restaurant. At least you seemed fine."

"What happened at the restaurant?" he asked, thinking that he must have been slipped something there.

"You showed up, complaining about how bored you were, grabbed a chair from another table and joined us, ignoring the fact that we were one a date-"

"You're being redundant. What did I say? What did I do?" Sherlock insisted.

John sighed.

"I don't know," his friend said."You just sat down, looking around the restaurant, analyzing people, and then…it seemed like something caught your eye."

Sherlock perked at this.

"What?"

"I'm not sure. You nodded at the tables near the windows and asked _who's that_? I looked, but I wasn't sure who you were referring to. Then you got up, said you had a date, walked over to a table and sat down."

"A date?"

Sherlock tried to recall any of the events John spoke of, but they simply weren't there. Did this _date _having anything to do with it?

"I assumed it was a case," John shrugged.

"Who was sitting at the table?"

"A woman, posh, very attractive. The way she smiled at you when she looked up…I almost thought it was a date for a moment."

So, he'd sat down at a table with a woman, posh, attractive…John really needed to work on his deductive skills.

"Did you catch our exchange?" he asked.

"We were too far off to hear anything."

That let that out.

"What did you see?"

John shrugged.

"You sat down and then you two appeared to be staring at each other. You had that look you get when you do that thing-"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"It's called observing, John."

"Yeah, well she appeared to be doing the same thing to you."

Wait. What? He sat forward.

"Sorry?"

"That was Mary's take on it. Then you chatted for a very brief time at the end of which she stood up, abruptly, as if she was in a hurry. Then you attempted to pay her bill."

"I what?"

Pay her bill? Why would he pay her bill? That…his mind told him there wasn't enough information to make any deduction as to whether he would've attempted to pay her bill.

"That's what it looked like. You pulled out your card, there appeared to be a bit of an augment and then you left."

"What did she do after I left?"

"She just stood there for a few minutes and then she walked out after the waiter handed her card back."

Sherlock went over the events John described. He had absolutely no knowledge of them. Not even a whisper. He hadn't been drugged. It was different. Whatever happened to him must have started in that restaurant. He had to find that woman. He stood up and walked toward his room.

"Where're you going?" John called.

"I'm going to have a bath, then we're going to lunch," he replied without turning around.

His lost memory revolved around that woman and he was determined to find her. She either had a hand in what happened to him or she knew who was responsible. He wanted answers and one way or another he'd get them out of her.

* * *

The alarm blared, forcing Rose's eyes open. She sat up and sighed. She resisted the urge to flop back down in the bed and pull the covers over her face. She'd given Sherlock the assumption…well, he assumed and she hadn't corrected him, that most of her days were spent hunting down aliens. When, in fact, most of her days were spent making sure the few…very few aliens who slipped through the rift were adjusting, not running into trouble, being their go between, that sort of thing. It was whole lot of dress up and pretense.

It was enough to drive her round the bed, but there wasn't anyone else and she felt partly responsible. She knew it wasn't really her fault, but using the dimension cannon caused a shift in the rift on this world. It only lasted for a week, but during that time aliens had been pulled through. Fourteen that she found. Ten of which were friendly and she helped them, most could pass for human with a few morning touch ups, but a few well, they had to go into hiding, which wasn't easy in a universe where aliens seemed to ignore Earth.

Last night had been brilliant. Dropping the pretence, being herself for once. Sometimes she felt as if the real Rose Tyler was disappearing, being devoured by the many disguises.

She took those thoughts and locked them away with the others as she climbed out of bed and headed for the bath. There wasn't time for such thoughts. She had to oversee a meeting this afternoon with some posh bloke called Mycroft who wanted to do business with one of her friends, something to do with her friend's tech business. Communication Satellites, she recalled.

* * *

Sherlock waited impatiently while the manager brought up the camera footage from last night. The manager and two of the wait staff were fans of John's blog so he'd had to sit through fifteen minutes of gushing and a trivial round of questions and answers until he'd finally gotten fed up enough to point out the importance of his request.

"This has to do with a case then?" the manager asked as he drew up the feed.

"Yes," Sherlock answered.

"No," John replied.

The manager glanced at them.

"It's not a case with the police," the detective explained. "It's more of a…personal nature."

"He's looking for a woman," John said.

The manager's brow rose.

"For a case," Sherlock interjected.

He shot John a glare to which his friend simply smiled. John was still upset about Sherlock interrupting his evening and the detective knew this was his friend's attempt at payback. He was being childish.

"Well…that's odd," the manager said.

"Odd?" Sherlock asked, leaning down.

"The camera feed. The entire night's worth. It's been erased."

"Erased? What about the other cameras?"

"It's gone. All of it."

"I was right," he exclaimed, standing up and catching John's confused look. "Erasing the camera footage. She was covering her tracks. Making sure I couldn't see her. Oh. She's good."

John rolled his eyes at those words, reminding him of another woman Sherlock had taken a liking to. That's all they needed. Another Irene Adler. At that moment his friend abruptly turned and headed out of the room, leaving John to chase after him.

"Where are you going now?" John asked.

"I believe a visit with Mycroft is in order," Sherlock replied, hurrying out of the restaurant.

* * *

Rose climbed into the backseat of the posh black sedan. She usually drove herself around, liking to be the one in control of the vehicle just in cases something happened, but it wouldn't do for the head of a tech company and his PA to drive themselves to Mycroft's office.

She wasn't really Trevor's PA, but one of the agreements of allowing Jax to work for Trevor's company was that he was never seen by any government official and she sat in on all government meetings. He knew too much to allow anyone to become suspicious of him. When she made the arrangements she didn't realized how potentially dangerous this meeting could be, especially for her.

Mycroft Holmes. Of course he had to be Mycroft _Holmes, _Sherlock's older brother. She'd really botched this. _It's fine. It's fine. _She told herself. As long as she kept her head down everything would work out. PAs were hardly noticed and if he deduced anything, well, there was always a bit of that memory dust left, although altering Mycroft's memory would only give her one option. Run.

She took her fear and anxiety and locked them away. They'd do her more harm than good at the moment. The sedan stopped outside her friend's flat. Trevor climbed in the back, wearing a three piece suit and sandals, sporting his usual grin. She shook her head and smiled.

* * *

"You have an appointment, NOW?" Sherlock asked, irritated that his friend was going to run off for some appointment when they were in the middle of a case.

"Yes, but like I said I'll text you after and catch up," John said.

It was just a checkup.

"Can't Mary take care of it?"

John was sporting his usual _can't you think of someone other than yourself _look. One Sherlock promptly ignored.

"We do these things together," John replied.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"She's not even ill."

"No but there are vaccinations and Mary would feel better if I were there."

Another eye roll.

"This is important," the detective insisted.

"Not more important than my child, Sherlock," John replied.

"Fine," the detective snapped, climbing in the cab and closing the door.

"I'll text you when I'm finished," John said as the cab drove off.

* * *

Everything was going well. Trevor and Mycroft were talking. She stood next to Mycroft's PA, who hadn't been introduced. Seemed Mycroft didn't pay much attention to people below his station. _Pompous sod. _That was good though because he hadn't given Rose much notice.

She feigned being busy with her phone. Something that Mycroft's assistant never stopped at. Rose, on the other hand, was completely focused on the meeting. Everything seemed to be on the up and up, no talk of weapons, something she'd been worried about. Just the satellite.

Mycroft and Trevor stood up, shaking hands, the meeting coming to a close when the door burst open and the one man out of all the men in London she was trying to avoid walked through the door. _Bollocks! _

Strode was a more accurate term to describe the way Sherlock entered the room. As if he was exactly where he ought to be and everyone in the room better pay attention.

"Sherlock," Mycroft greeted in a disdainful way, the man's eyes taking on a sharp, irritated look.

"Was it you?" Sherlock asked in an accusing tone.

"I'm sorry?"

"Did you do this to me?"

"I really haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Mycroft said and then eyed his brother. "If you'll give me a moment to wrap up my meeting I'll give you my complete attention."

Sherlock seemed annoyed by the idea of waiting, but he took a step back and allowed Mycroft to show Trevor toward the door. Unfortunately, Rose could see the detective gazing around the room in that bored manner, his eyes roving closer to her. _Crap! _He wouldn't remember her of course, at least he shouldn't, but then again he was Sherlock Holmes and she really couldn't put anything past him, not after her meeting with him last night. He was more than clever and if anyone could overcome the effects of the memory dust, he would be the one.

She turned to hurry to the door, but in her haste she misjudged where Mycroft's PA was standing and ran directly into her, knocking the woman to the floor. _Bollocks! _

* * *

Sherlock scanned the room impatiently. Finding out the camera feed had been erased gave him the idea of Mycroft's involvement. It would be just like his brother to do something like that. The woman must have some involvement with his brother.

Maybe he finally found something on Mycroft. Something to do with that woman. She might've told Mycroft. His brother would've had him picked up and given him something, some form of amnesia pill or injection, something to erase the entire night. The more Sherlock thought about it the more it seemed plausible. His eyes wondered over to his brother and that business associate.

A scuffle at the other end of the room drew his attention. The blonde woman he noticed upon entering seemed to have tripped and run into Anthea, Mycroft's PA, knocking her to the floor.

"I'm so sorry," the blonde apologized, reaching down and helping Anthea up.

"Next time watch where you're going," Anthea snapped.

"Um…right," the woman replied, seeming to bite back a comment. "Sorry."

Sherlock gazed over the woman. Mid to late twenties. Posh. Long sleeve blouse and black pencil skirt, heels, glasses. Deducing that she was obviously the business partner's PA he dismissed her.

"Anthea, if you would see to my appointment this evening," Mycroft instructed as he drew up to them.

Anthea fell back into obedience, but Sherlock could see a glint of lingering anger as she quickly walked out the door. The other woman, the blonde stepped out the door with Mycroft's associate.

* * *

John hurried up the steps and into the building that housed Mycroft's offices. After receiving Mary's text that the appointment was moved to tomorrow he came straight over. He opened the door, but paused as two people hurried toward him. A man in a business suit and sandals and a blonde woman who looked a bit like the one from last night.

He opened the door wider for them. She caught his gaze and gave him a smile and that's when he realized she didn't _look _like the woman from last night. She was the woman from last night. The one at the table with Sherlock.

He had two choices. Follow the woman or find his friend. He knew what Sherlock would do. He released the door and followed them down the street. The man walked over to a sedan parked by the curb. He climbed in and a moment later the car drove off.

The woman, on the other hand, continued down the street. John followed her, keeping back a few paces so as not to alert her of his presence. She turned down an alley. He followed a few moments later, but found the area empty. He glanced around the alley. No doors, no windows. She was just gone. _How the hell was that even possible?_

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	4. The Game Is On

I was asked for another chapter and since I don't have many up with this story I thought I'd oblige. Hope you guys enjoy it! :)

* * *

When John told Sherlock that the woman in question had been in Mycroft's building, that he followed her and she had, for lack of a more reasonable explanation, vanished after turning down an alley he expected Sherlock to rush back into the building, demand camera footage, a name, to interrogate anyone who associated with her, including Mycroft. What he didn't expect was what happened after his friend inspected the alley. The excited handclap followed by an exclamation that always meant trouble, _Oh! It's Christmas!_

Before he could question his friend, Sherlock headed out of the alley and hailed the first cab. John climbed in after him, Sherlock told the driver to take them to 221 Baker Street, and then sat back, gazing out the window.

"She was in Mycroft's building. There's bound to be camera footage," John suggesting, thinking that his friend may have overlooked that in his initial excitement.

"And let my brother get wind of her? That's out of the question," Sherlock replied.

"Wait. But when we left the restaurant you were sure she was working for him."

Sherlock continued to gaze out the window, but an irritated look crossed his features.

"My initial assessment of the situation was inaccurate," the detective replied.

"You were wrong?" John asked.

It did happen, on occasion and always drove his friend round the bend.

"But what about the camera feed? That was the whole reason you thought it was Mycroft," he continued.

At that his friend caught his eye and smiled, one of those rare genuine smiles.

"She's good." John raised his brow. "Don't you see?" Sherlock asked, sitting forward, but he had no idea what his friend was going on about. "It's her. All of it. I must have noticed something in that restaurant. Something that led me to her."

"What do you think it was?"

Sherlock chuckled sitting back.

"I've no idea."

Sherlock focused his attention back out the window, allowing John and the cab to fade into the background. After John's description of the blonde and the man she accompanied out of the building he realized who she was. The PA in Mycroft's office. He went back over everything that happened in that room after he entered and came to three conclusions. Mycroft didn't know her. His brother hadn't even picked up that she wasn't who she pretended to be, but then she was background, intentionally so. Her accidental run in with Anthea happened during her attempt to flee the room upon seeing Sherlock, something she hadn't expected and had momentarily thrown her off her game. He wished he'd taken the time to evaluate her more, but he'd been focused on Mycroft, believing his brother to be the one behind his memory loss.

He had, however, evaluated the business associate, company head, something to do with satellites, from the papers he glanced on his brother' s desk. He had a clear image of the man in his mind. A quick search on the internet should turn up the man's name and the company. Then he could pay the man a visit and, if he was lucky, he might catch her there.

* * *

Rose was wrapping things up with Trevor, who wasn't happy when she mentioned that Sherlock Holmes might come snooping around trying to find out about her. She didn't explain everything, just told her friend that she piqued his interest.

"You have to be careful, Rose," Trevor said. "I've heard about him. He's like a bloodhound."

She grinned at that.

"He's got no way of tracking me," she replied.

He cocked his brow.

"If that were true we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"If he finds anyone it'll be you."

"If I didn't love you I'd say you were more trouble than you're worth," he replied. She paused, raising her brow. He seemed to catch his slip, hand going to the back of his neck. "No…um…what I meant to say was…" His eyes shifted around the room nervously. "He's here." Trevor pointed at the far wall.

Rose glanced in that direction, at the camera monitors as Sherlock walked into the building with another bloke, bit shorter with sandy hair. Wait. She'd seen him when she was leaving Mycroft's building. He held the door for her. _Bollocks! _

They stopped at reception and a moment later headed over to the lifts. This was bad _really extremely not good, _her mind snapped. _Brilliant! _Somehow she had to get him out of that building, not only that she had to get him to stay away from that building. His inquiries could draw Mycroft there and that man wasn't just TROUBLE he was DANGEROUS, HIGHLY DANGEROUS.

"Okay," she said, snapping into defense mode. She hurried over to Trevor's desk and sat down at his computer. "I can reroute the power in your building through here." She began typing on the keyboard.

"Wait. What're you doing?" Trevor asked.

"Hopefully averting a crisis," she replied and then glanced at the camera feed. The doors slid open. Sherlock and his friend stepped in and a moment later the doors slid shut. She waiting until it started moving then she shut the power down to the lift. She watched the feed from the lift, grinning at their bewildered looks.

* * *

The bloke turned out to be Trevor Premier, head of a local up and coming technology company. John walked over to the lift with Sherlock after they found out which floor held Mr. Premier's office. His friend was good, getting the information with a ruse of having been sent over by Mycroft to pick up some paperwork that had to do with their earlier meeting.

Sherlock pushed the button for the seventh floor after they got into the lift. The doors slid shut. The lift started to move and then abruptly stopped. John pushed the button. Nothing.

"What was that?" he asked and found his friend smiling.

"I believe our presence has been detected," Sherlock replied.

A moment later a woman's voice filled the interior of the lift.

"Busy afternoon?" she asked, but instead of waiting for a reply she continued. "This must be the famous Doctor Watson."

John glanced at his friend and noted the way his smile slipped, which made the doctor grin.

"Um…yes, John actually," he said. "And you are?"

"If you like," she replied. "I have a few…things to attend to. Shouldn't take more than a few minutes and then we can chat."

"A few minutes then," he said, glancing at Sherlock and taking in the irritated look his friend wore, telling him it was going to be a very long few minutes.

* * *

Rose stood up after her brief conversation with John, even thinking the name twinged a bit because it reminded her of everything that was back in another universe, everything she'd lost, but she pushed those feelings aside as she glanced at Trevor.

"Get Jax to the safe house. If things go well he'll only have to stay a week. He can finish up that project from there. It's fully equipped," she said.

"What're you going to do about them?" Trevor asked.

"I'm going to try reasoning with them."

She wasn't sure what she would do if it didn't work, but she put that thought aside as Trevor hurried out of the room. She pulled her phone and texted Jax two words, _Canary Wharf, _words that only held meaning to her in this universe and meant that something went wrong and he was being taken to the safe house, same way something went wrong and her dad had saved her. Then she slid her phone into her pocket, pulled out the transporter, snapped it on her wrist, got the lift moving again, heading to her destination, and teleported to the underground parking garage, glad that she hadn't retrieved Frank from her flat after that meeting with Mycroft, Frank being the whole reason the detective became interested in the first place.

* * *

Sherlock pushed the irritation he felt at her mention of the _famous _Doctor Watson aside. What mattered was finding her and getting to the truth. Finding out how she erased his memory and why. The lift began to move, indicating their meeting was about to begin. A moment later the doors opened on the underground parking garage and he stepped out. A strange, high pitched warbling noise drew his attention and the lift doors closed before John could join him.

"No offense to your friend, but I prefer private meetings," her voice reached him, indicating she wasn't too far off from his position.

He turned around walking further into the dimly lit area. He didn't have too far to go before she stepped out from behind a pillar a few meters to his right.

"How did you manage it?" he asked, referring to her ability to close the elevator and trap John inside from roughly seven meters away.

She shrugged.

"A girl's gotta have her secrets," she replied with a grin and he couldn't help returning her smile.

She was Very Interesting. He shook the feeling off, focusing on her, assessing her. Something he hadn't done earlier. Blonde hair, a few shades lighter than her original. High end salon. She'd dropped the glasses, didn't need them, they'd been part of her disguise. Not a PA, but then he already suspected as much. Long sleeve blouse, buttoned to the top. If she had tattoos or distinguishing markings they were hidden from his view. Long, black, pencil skirt, hiding all but her calves, which were well muscled, athletic. Black heels. All her clothing had been purchased from high end shops. Intelligent, something he already knew. The way she held herself and her ability to shut down the lift and reactivate it told him she had some sort of training. It was a defensive move, trapping the pieces, putting them in place. She was Alone. No family, close friends, lovers. SECRETS. The entire word capitalizing to indicate a large quantity. Traveler. The word capitalizing to indicate a great distance and a great many places.

"Who are you?" he asked, stepping toward her, but the tension in her muscles told him she wanted her space so he paused and stepped back.

"I think we both know I'm not going to answer that," she replied. "I didn't set up this meeting to answer your questions." He quirked his brow. "Your problem is with me not my friends."

He paused at that. _Friends? _

"You don't have any close friends," he stated.

She reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in a move of discomfort.

"No, but there are people I take care of and your presence threatens them."

"My presence threatens your friends? How?" he asked, thinking it was a fabrication to throw him off.

"Your brother is Mycroft Holmes and he's probably the most dangerous…" she paused as if searching for the right word. "…man I've ever come across. My friend signs a contract with him in the morning and by afternoon his brother arrives. You don't think he's going to be interested in that?"

"What does that have to do with your friend? If he signed a contract with my brother then they're already associating. Why would my presence affect that?"

"Because Mycroft doesn't know about my friend. Trevor signed the contract with him. My friend would be in danger if your brother knew of his existence. So, Sherlock, I'm asking you to leave and not come back." She gazed at him and he could see no suggestion that she was lying, even her voice seemed sincere. "Please."

"And how am I to get answers?" he asked.

He wanted answers and the best way to get him to leave her friends alone was to give him a chance to get them. She couldn't, of course, tell him everything. If she did that she'd have to leave London, but she could give him hints. Clues. Something to occupy him.

"I'll tell you what. If you can find a creative way to interest me I'll give you answers," she replied, giving him a grin that could only be described as cheeky and one he found Very Distracting.

In the next moment she stepped back behind the pillar. He stood there for a moment and was startled by a zapping sound and a flash of light. He walked over to the pillar. The scent of ozone hung in the air, but she was gone. He glanced around the area, but she wasn't anywhere to be found and he hadn't heard her running off. He smiled.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	5. Creativity

I've had some questions about updates. Just wanted to let everyone know that I will be updating all my stories this weekend. :)

* * *

John watched Sherlock who was sitting across from him and hadn't moved a muscle in the past half hour. His friend had been like that since they returned from that technology company. Sherlock hadn't said anything about his meeting with that woman and no amount of badgering on John's part was able to make his friend talk.

He knew Sherlock was in his mind palace. A place where outside stimuli couldn't reach him and John's presence wasn't even noticed, but he was worried. If this woman was anything like Irene Adler, and everything seemed to point to that conclusion, she was trouble. Trouble with a capital T.

"Ah!" Sherlock gasped, coming out of his trance-like state with a look that told John his friend had worked something out.

"What?" he asked, sitting forward.

"It's perfect."

Instead of elaborating Sherlock stood up and walked over to the desk, sitting down in front of his laptop and began typing. John joined him watching as the detective brought up his blog and began typing out a new post.

"What're you doing?" he asked.

"Lonely hearts ad," Sherlock replied, as if that should answer his question. When, in fact, it only created more questions, but he chose to put them off till Sherlock was finished with what the hell ever he thought he was doing.

* * *

Rose dressed in her sleep ware after her bath. It was late and after the day she had she just wanted to relax. The entire thing was nearly botched by Sherlock's arrival, which was entirely her fault. She sighed. She really liked London and she hoped she wouldn't have to leave. To run. Again.

Even with the danger he posed…or maybes because of it she couldn't help feeling…excitement. Thrill of the chase. Something she didn't get enough of these days. TROUBLE. Yes, Sherlock was trouble in all caps. She knew that, but still he was definitely interesting.

She tried to pushed all thoughts of the detective from her mind as she walked into the kitchen, made herself a cuppa, but his presence was still there when she sat down at the table. She knew she shouldn't, but she reached over and opened her laptop.

* * *

John read the _Lonely Hearts Ad, _as Sherlock put it, as his friend typed.

"Are you sure you want to post that?" he asked.

"Quite certain," Sherlock replied without pausing in his typing.

It read a lot like a personal ad, a very strange personal ad.

"You realize there are going to be other responses."

"I'm only looking for one."

"How can you even be sure she'll read it?"

"She'll read it."

"What makes you say that?"

"She's clever, which makes her curious."

John rolled his eyes.

"If she drugged you why would she respond?"

"Because she gets bored."

"Clever, curious, and bored. You realize you just described yourself."

Sherlock didn't reply. Instead he continued typing. John sighed.

"I'm heading home then," he continued, walking over to retrieve his coat.

"Mm," his friend replied.

He rolled his eyes before opening the door and stepping out.

* * *

Rose knew she couldn't chance actually seeing him again. Whatever answers she gave him would have to be given via third party, but reading his website wouldn't hurt. Besides she missed being around someone who thought like him. She opened the page and read his latest post.

SEEKING

CLEVER BLONDE

Mid to late 20s. Must like disguises,

empty allies, bureaucratic offices,

and men wearing sandals. Respond

if interested.

She quirked her brow and a moment later she grinned. Well, since he went to all that trouble.

* * *

Sherlock sat in his chair. It'd been hours since he typed the post. It was nearly ten. Maybe John was right. Maybe she wouldn't –

His phone chimed. He pulled it out of his pocket and read the text.

_The alley. One hour._

He smiled. Then he stood up, slid his phone into his pocket, put on his coat, wrapped his scarf around his neck and hurried out the door.

* * *

TROUBLE, Rose's mind warned, but she told it to sod off. It wasn't like she was going to see him. It was just a bit of fun and it was safe. Plus she told him if he found an interesting way to get her attention she'd give him answers. It would also keep him occupied while she ran errands tomorrow.

It took her a while, and an internet search, to come up with the idea. She was clever, but Sherlock was more than brilliant and she needed something that would keep him busy tomorrow, preferably all day.

She hurriedly dressed, black trousers, blue top, her trainers because she didn't get to wear them often enough. She pocketed her sonic. John gave it to her before he moved, choosing domestics over the life he remembered because he could do that for Sarah Jane. After that she pulled on a pair of gloves, wouldn't do to leave fingerprints, slipped into her jacket, then she strapped the transporter to her wrist.

* * *

Sherlock arrived at the alley seventeen minutes later. He glanced around, trying to locate an alcove or shadowed area where he might conceal himself. He was intent on catching her, arriving early so he could lay in wait. The moment she arrived he'd have her, find out how she erased his memory and why.

His phone chimed. He pulled it out and read the text.

_Impatient much?_

_-BLOCKED_

She was there. Had to be. He glanced around the alley, up at the buildings, looking for any place she might be able to see him from. There were twelve possibilities. His phone chimed.

_16__paces back._

_-BLCOKED_

He turned around and walked back sixteen paces. He found himself at the alley entrance. He looked around, but the street seemed deserted. His phone chimed.

_Streetlamp. Left Side._

-BLOCKED

He glanced to his left. There was a streetlamp two meters from where he stood, as he drew closer he saw it. A very small remote camera affixed to the pole. He pulled it off. She was good. Another text.

_Hello._

_-BLOCKED._

He grinned, pocketing the camera. His phone chimed again.

_Under the skip in the alley._

_-BLOCKED_

He walked back into the alley, located the skip and pulled out his torch. He bent down and looked. There was a metal box under the skip, rectangular. He reached under the skip and pulled it out. An old safety deposit box. He tried the lid. Locked. As he stood up his phone chimed again.

He turned off the torch, slid it into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

_Goodnight, Sherlock._

-BLOCKED.

He smiled, replaced his phone and headed back to his flat. He had no idea who she was, but one thing was certain. She was interesting. Very Interesting.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	6. Handcuffs

Because I can't refuse a request from an awesome reviewer! :)

Thank you to TheWheelWeaves for the Robin Hood idea!

Bit of a cheeky chapter. ;-)

* * *

Rose opened her closet and gazed around at the outfits, _costumes _was a more accurate term. Socialite, PA, secretary, business woman, police uniform, a collection of coveralls, maid, waitress, and loads more. Today was a socialite day, most days were since that was her main cover. The others were for days like yesterday when she had to don a second cover.

She pulled out a powder blue dress and picked up a pair of black heels, not the ones she wore to the restaurant, but similar. Then she stepped back into her room and proceeded to get ready. Today was a shopping day, which meant going round to her friends who couldn't go out themselves, picking up their lists, and then going round to the London shops, which was why she needed to keep Sherlock occupied. The last thing she wanted was to run into him, although part of her didn't agree with that, but she shoved those feeling aside. He was too much of a complication.

* * *

John stepped into Sherlock's flat. He could hear his friend in the kitchen, the sound of Sherlock's blowtorch indicated he was working on an experiment of some sort.

"Ha!" Sherlock exclaimed as John stepped into the kitchen.

Sherlock grinned as he turned off the blowtorch. He sat it on the counter, raised his goggles, and finally opened the safe deposit box.

"Now, to find out what she left for me," he said.

"What who left?" John asked.

"Her."

The detective peered into the box. A book and a card. Odd. He picked up the book. Robin Hood. Cover was leather. High end bookshop. New. He sniffed it. Purchased…last night. He leafed through the pages. She hadn't even opened it, which meant the title, the author, or the story itself was the clue. The book would, most likely, be as devoid of fingerprints as the box had been, but he'd run the tests anyway.

"Her who?" John inquired.

"The…" _woman, _he'd been about to say, but for some reason that didn't seem right, only he couldn't figure out why it didn't seem right. "The one from last night."

He picked up the card. Business card. Prentice Hall. Makers of educational books. He turned the card over in his hands, gazing at it, feeling the material. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"Wait. So, she answered your ad?"

"Obviously."

The card was also a clue, but what about the card was the clue? Education? Books? He dismissed both of those. She wasn't in education and although she had left him a book she wouldn't have left him a clue that told him she'd left him a book, she was too clever for that. Which meant it must have something to do with the name…

"Oh! A name!" he exclaimed, dashing into the other room and sitting down at his laptop.

"What?" John asked, following him.

"She's given me a name."

John walked over to Sherlock while the detective typed on the keyboard. His friend appeared to be running a search, but he still didn't have a clue what was going on. The woman, the blonde from the restaurant answered the ad, but her answer appeared to be clues to a name.

"Her name?"

"Doubtful. She's too clever for that," Sherlock replied and he could hear the same admiration in his friend's voice that he had for another woman.

"What name then?"

"An alias, obviously."

"Why would she give you clues to figure out her alias? I mean, if it's not her real name why not just tell you?"

"Because this is more fun."

John rolled his eyes.

"Is that why you used the blowtorch instead of your lock picks because that was more fun?" he asked, sarcastically.

"Don't be an idiot. I tried the lock picks, all of them. The blowtorch was number fourteen. I'm not sure how she managed to jam the mechanism, but all my attempts to unlock it failed. I'll be examining the lock later," Sherlock explained, more of that admiration in his voice.

"What are you doing now then?"

"Running a search on Marion Prentice."

"Marion Prentice?"

"The business card and the book. Two clues to the same name. Prentice is obviously a last name and the female lead in Robin Hood is Maid Marion."

"Seems pretty easy for someone that clever."

Sherlock shot him a disproving glance before turning back to his search.

"The box was meant to keep me occupied not the clues," the detective replied.

"Keep you occupied?" John asked.

"She's obviously afraid we'll run into each other today, which is why she gave me the box."

_Damn! _Sherlock sat back. Nothing. No mention of Marion Prentice. He had the name right. He was sure of that. She was keeping a very low profile. There was only one thing to do. He stood up and walked to the door, sliding into his coat and wrapping his scarf around his neck.

"Where are you going?" John asked.

"I'm sure you have to get to the office and I've got to take walk," he replied, opening the door and stepping out.

* * *

Rose leaned on the rail overlooking the Thames, ignoring the chilly breeze that ruffled her unbuttoned coat. Even if it was a parallel version the river would always remind her of the Doctor. Of that day her mum slapped him and she was teasing him on the roof of that building when that ship flew overhead and crashed into the Thames. They were good memories, but still tinged with a bit of loss. Mainly, because she was still alone. She had friends, not close friends, but even with those it was still just her. She sighed.

"From personal assistant to socialite in twenty-four hours. Impressive," a deep voice said behind her.

_Bollocks! _She didn't have to turn around to know it was Sherlock. She'd been so lost in thought that he snuck up on her. She could've played it off as a case of mistaken identity, but she knew that wouldn't work on him.

"I would've thought you'd be too busy for a stroll," she replied without taking her eyes from the view.

He walked over to the railing to stand next to her, but instead of looking at her he leaned his hands on it and glanced out over the Thames.

"I would have been had I waited until this morning, but you know how impatient I can be, Ms. Prentice."

She couldn't help grinning.

"I may have heard that somewhere before."

She caught the sideways glance he gave her, but she pretended not to notice.

"If I recall correctly, at our last meeting you told me you would give me answers," he said.

"You found the box," she replied.

"Giving me an alias isn't an answer."

"Actually it is, but you probably don't remember that bit," she said, unable to stop herself from grinning at the memory.

Another sideways glace from him and she caught the smile he returned. He blinked a moment later, still seeming to gaze out at the view.

"I was told we had a date," he said after a minute. "Unfortunately, I can't seem to remember it."

"Actually you invited yourself to sit down at my table. Not exactly what I'd call a date," she replied.

"Since my credit card bill indicates I paid for your meal and your champagne I beg to differ."

She laughed, she couldn't help it.

Sherlock turned his entire body seeming to gravitate toward her laugh. He gazed at her. The sound of it, almost euphoric, tugged at his mind, but the feeling was gone before he could locate the source. He knew what it meant though. His memories of that night weren't gone, not completely. They could be found, recovered. She was the key to that.

"That was your own fault," she replied after a moment. Turning toward him. "It was nice to see you again, Sherlock," she continued, drawing close to him. So close that their bodies were nearly touching. She gazed up into his eyes and for a moment he didn't even breathe. Time itself seemed to stop as a feeling washing over him, like her laugh it was almost euphoric. _Stardust. _The word whispered through his mind, but he couldn't find its origin, didn't understand why it was there. "I have a busy day, but we'll talk again once you work out all three of the clues I left you."

She gave him another one of those cheeky grins and in its wake he lost all sense of reason. He started to reach for, but she stepped back, breaking the trance. His mind slapped him back into focus and that's when he realized there was something on his wrist. He glanced down and found she'd cuffed him to the rail.

He looked at her and found her grinning at him.

"You carry handcuffs?" he asked, unable to stop a smile from appearing.

"I like to be prepared," she replied and her grin turned cheeky.

He raised his brow.

"Prepared for what?"

She shrugged.

"Everything."

She turned to walk away.

"You're just going to leave me?" he called after her.

He had his lock pick set so getting out of them would be easy, but he didn't want to lose her. She turned back.

"You've got Lestrade on speed dial, remember?" she asked, giving him a smile and then she turned back and hurried off before he could call after her again.

How the hell did she know that? He shook that question off and pulled out his lock pick set. _Three _clues, but he'd only worked out two. _Three. _The book, the business card and…Oh! The safe deposit box was a clue. Why didn't he see that?

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	7. Clever Girl

Rose rewound the camera feed to the exact moment he arrived…he and John, she corrected, watching the doctor take a position by the side door. She grinned. Sherlock thought he was going to get the drop on her, but that was never going to happen.

He might've worked the clue out early, but she'd set everything up last night. Of course he didn't know about her transporter. If he did he wouldn't have been waiting outside. She stood up and motioned for Frank to pick up the safe. A home safe, big enough to fit all four clues, but small enough that it could be lifted in two hands, not comfortable to carry too far…well, for humans.

She strapped the transporter to her wrist, grabbed Frank's arm and teleported them inside the building.

* * *

Sherlock ignored the chill in the air as he kept his eyes trained on the front entrance from his vantage point cloaked in the shadows of the entrance to the alley across the road. John was keeping an eye on the side entrance from another location.

It didn't take him long to get out of the handcuffs, after which he headed straight home, worked out where the safe deposit box had been taken from, which turned out to be an old bank that hadn't been used in years, then he'd phoned John and they'd been lying in wait ever since. Sherlock was determined to be there when she arrived, catch her before she entered the bank. So far she'd been the one getting the drop on him, but all that was about to change.

His phone chimed, announcing a text. He pulled it out, thinking that perhaps John had caught her in the act of sneaking in the side entrance.

_You look cold. Haven't been waiting long I hope._

_-BLOCKED_

How the hell did she spot him? He glanced around the area. Nothing moved. The buildings nearby were mostly businesses, most of them in disrepair. He'd been watching the entrance to the bank for the past two hours forty-nine minutes and there hadn't been a single pedestrian, which meant…she had cameras set up. _Damn! _

_You can collect your clues, if you like._

_-BLOCKED_

Wait. What? She couldn't have gotten past him, which meant…He ran across the street and down the alley.

"John," he called.

"Sherlock?" his friend replied, stepping out of the shadows near the skip.

John was there and fine.

"Have you been watching the door the whole time?"

"Yeah and its damn cold out here." John rubbed his arms for emphasis. "How much longer are we going to be at this?"

"We don't have to wait. She's already been," Sherlock replied, walking to the side entrance.

"What? How did she get past you?" his friend asked, catching up.

"She didn't get past me."

He pulled his lock pick set and started work on the door.

"Well, she didn't get past me. How the hell did she get inside without getting past either one of us?"

"I've no idea," he replied.

His phone chimed. He pulled it out of his pocket and read the text.

_Goodnight, Sherlock._

_-BLOCKED._

He smiled.

"Clever girl," he said, sliding his phone back into his pocket as he drew a bemused look from John that he promptly ignored.

She was clever. Very Clever. He'd have to be better to get the jump on her, but he was determined to do just that. The door unlock with a soft click. He slid his lock pick set back into his pocket, opened the door and stepped inside. It was dark so he pulled out his torch and clicked it on.

John followed Sherlock into the building, pulling his own torch and turning it on in the process. He couldn't work out how she managed to slip past Sherlock. There was a first time for everything. He almost smiled, but pulled it back. He hadn't actually met the woman, but she seemed…well, he would've said nice from their brief chat if she hadn't locked him in the elevator and he was worried she was another Irene Adler.

Sherlock searched the room with his torch. Papers littered the floor and a few broken safe deposit boxes among other debris. The counters were still intact and that's when the light lit up his prize. A home safe. It was sitting on one of the counters. He crossed the room toward it. She'd drawn a red heart in lipstick over the locked door. Another grin surfaced.

"Is that lipstick?" John asked. "Looks like the same shade she was wearing at the restaurant.

"Is it?" he inquired without glancing at his friend, more focused on the safe and the contents it might include, although his eyes were more inclined to travel to the lipstick, but he told himself that was because it might contain DNA evidence, especially if it were the same lipstick she wore.

* * *

Rose grinned as she watched John and Sherlock load the safe into a cab. He wanted answers, answers about who she was and inside that safe was the beginning. Clues to the person she'd been before everything changed. It probably wouldn't take him long to work them out, but getting in the safe…well, that was going to be another thing entirely.

She closed her laptop and headed in for a bath. She didn't have much planned tomorrow, but she needed to pick up a dress. There was some posh event planned in three days time and she agreed to accompany Trevor, as his friend not his date. She made sure he understood that, at least, he better be sure.

Trevor was great. Funny, sweet, bit of an oddball, but he wasn't someone she'd want a relationship with, not that she wanted one. Relationships were complicated and with the life she had, well, it just wasn't possible.

* * *

John watched Sherlock use the blowtorch to cut into the safe. After helping Sherlock carry it up the stairs and then depositing it on the table the detective had been completely focused on the task of opening it. The tumbler was stuck and wouldn't move no matter what his friend tried, which let the easy way out. Sherlock attempted a few other means to get inside and finally settled on the blowtorch.

John glanced at his watch. It was late, he needed to get home forty minutes ago.

Sherlock stood up, pulled the blowtorch back and looked at the safe in confusion. He felt the spot he'd held the torch against. The metal felt cool, hadn't even heated up. How was that even possible?

"It's not even warm," he announced.

"Sorry?" John asked.

"The metal. It's not even warm."

"Wait. How's that possible."

Sherlock grinned.

"I've no idea."

He turned off the blowtorch and sat it down, removed his goggles, grabbed a petri dish and a scalpel, then proceeded to scrape some of the metal off.

"What're you doing?" John asked.

"I need to run an analysis," he explained. "Find out what sort of chemical she used on the safe."

An analysis. That was going to be a while. John glanced at his watch again.

"Well, I should head home then. Mary's probably in bed."

"Mm," Sherlock replied, telling John that his friend wasn't paying much attention. More focused on the mystery of the safe.

Sherlock barely registered John leaving. An alloy or chemical that kept metal from heating up. Now that was interesting. Very Interesting. How had she come across it? What other properties did it possess?

He grinned, hurrying over to his microscope. Oh! This was indeed Christmas!

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	8. Frustrating Encounters

This one's a bit cheekier than the other...just saying. :)

* * *

Rose changed into a light pink pattern dress, another socialite disguise, after her shower. Sherlock should still be busy with the safe, but after yesterday she couldn't be sure about that. Only, she had a shopping trip she couldn't put off. She'd be too busy tomorrow and she didn't want to go last minute shopping before the party…well, posh event was a more accurate term.

She wasn't entirely sure what he'd make of the alloy Torchwood developed and she knew her dad would've had a row with her over wasting it on a home safe, but she needed to keep Sherlock occupied…and she knew it'd take him for a turn. Something she seemed unable to stop herself from doing. Stumping the world's greatest detective. She couldn't help smiling at the idea.

TROUBLE. Her mind reminded her, but she pushed that thought aside. From the moment he sat down at her table she'd been doomed. All she could hope for was to delay his inquest, keep him occupied. RUN. Yes, she could do that, but she wasn't in any real danger yet. He didn't have her name or anyway to trace things back to her.

She pushed all thoughts of Sherlock from her mind as she grabbed her keys and headed out the door. The transporter was for emergencies, not everyday use. Wouldn't do to have someone notice her sudden appearance.

* * *

Sherlock climbed into the cab, another petri dish in his pocket containing more metal shavings from the safe. He'd been up all night trying to determine the chemical composition of the alloy she used, but he'd been unable to do so. His only option was a visit to the labs at the hospital. Molly would let him use the equipment. She rarely asked questions, well, she asked, but she was used to him not answering. Once he knew what he was dealing with he could tackle opening the safe.

He couldn't help smiling at this new puzzle she'd given him. Two puzzles actually. One inside the safe and the safe itself. She was as much fun as a serial killer, always something new. Of course, her intention was not to get caught, but catch her he would.

He could've caught her yesterday if not for the manner in which she distracted him and the handcuffs. Another grin surfaced as he wondered exactly why she'd carry handcuffs on her person. At that moment he sat up, his gaze out the window landing on…_her_.

"Stop the cab!" he shouted.

The driver pulled to a startled stop as Sherlock fished a handful of notes from his pocket and thrust them at the confused man before opening the door and dashing out, his eyes never leaving her. Once outside he paused, tracking her as he walked down the sidewalk.

She wore a pink pattern dress that stopped just below her knees, white belt and shoes, with her hair hanging loose. She appeared to be focused on her destination as she made her way down the road. He started following. Keeping a safe distance back, always with people between them.

She didn't seem to notice his presence. He had to be careful. Had to make sure she didn't spot him. This was his chance to get the drop on her. Finally catch her. He grinned.

* * *

Rose stepped into the shop and began browsing the dresses…gown length, it was a posh event. The kind that called for gowns. She hoped Mycroft wasn't going to be there, but she had a feeling that he'd turn up. It was the sort of thing he'd probably make an entrance at. She had to be careful. She'd already drawn the attention of one Holmes and Mycroft wasn't like his brother.

Sherlock was TROUBLE, but Mycroft was DANGEROUS. She'd drawn the attention of a dangerous man once. A long time ago. It was during her search for the Doctor back when the stars were going out. She drew in a breath and forced it out and with it those thoughts. She didn't like to think about that time, that universe. Those were memories she wished she could forget. Things best left in the past.

She chose three dresses off the rack and headed back to the changing rooms. She didn't want to rush, but she also didn't want to take her time and chance running into Sherlock again. She only had so many pairs of handcuffs. She couldn't help smiling at the memory as she stepped into the small changing room.

It was larger than some changing rooms with a full length mirror in the corner. She hung the dresses up, unzipped the one she wore and chose the black one with thin straps.

She stepped into it and pulled the straps onto her shoulders, but as she reached for the zipper the door opened. She could see him in the mirror, the man she was trying to avoid. How the hell had he found her? He ought to be busy with the safe, but even if he wasn't he couldn't have known she'd be there.

She kept the shock from reaching her eyes as he closed the door, never taking his gaze from her.

"Frequent many ladies' changing rooms?" she asked.

Sherlock caught the teasing lilt in her voice, something he would never openly admit that he'd grown fond of. He didn't reply because his eyes were locked on something…unexpected. A scar that ran nearly the length of her back, from the center of her shoulder blades following the dip to the base of her spine. It wasn't a knife wound, nor was it made by a scalpel. It appeared to have been a burn, severe, and created with precision. Not an accident. He found himself wanting to know exactly how she received the scar and who was at fault.

"If you insist on intruding you could at least make yourself useful," she continued, moving her hair away from the zipper.

He closed the few steps between them, but instead of pulling the zipper up. He reached out and traced her scar with his finger, wanting to determine the cause.

Rose closed her eyes, her breath catching as his soft finger glided skillfully down the scar that ran the length of her back, a reminder of one of the darkest times in her life. Something only one other person outside that universe knew about. Only because he saw it. Only because he asked.

"You were burned," Sherlock said, his warm breath caressing her back as he examined the thin red line that marked times she wished she could forget. She shivered. "A laser?"

They didn't have instruments like that here. There were medical lasers and other types, but nothing like what he'd had in that room. She shuddered, shoving the memories back into a room that needed to stay locked.

"Yes," she replied and a moment later their eyes connected in the mirror. She glanced away first and after a minute she felt his hand on her zipper, guiding it up. "Another sleepless night?" she asked, falling back into the teasing, into the game because it was safe.

"I was running an analysis," he replied.

"And what did you find?" she inquired, smoothing out the gown, but keeping watch of him in the mirror.

"The results were inconclusive."

"It must be frustrating to have something right in front of you and not know what to make of it."

He reached out and took her shoulder, leaning very close to her ear.

"Quite frustrating indeed," he whispered, his breath ghosting over her ear and across her cheek, making her breath hitch. Before she could regain control he spun her around. Their faces mere inches from each other and she found herself gazing into his startling eyes. Losing herself in them as she did every time she looked into them. "Who are you?" he asked in the same way he had after their kiss.

Sherlock gazed into her eyes, his hands on her bare shoulders. Who was she? This woman. _Stardust, _the word was still there though its meaning eluded him. He had to know who she was, wanted to remember what happened between them because he had a feeling that it was important. She stimulated him. Always another mystery, always a challenge to overcome.

His eyes traveled to her lips as his mind thought back to that safe. The lipstick. _Her_ lipstick. A soft sheen of lip gloss covered them and he could smell the hint of tangerine from it, mingling with the strawberry and jasmine he remembered from their last encounter.

He was thinking about it. She could see that in the way he glanced at her mouth and, god, she was thinking about it too, hadn't stopped thinking about it since he walked in the door. It was too dangerous though. Seeing him was too dangerous. The memory dust wasn't fool proof and with a mind like his one jolt might be all it took. A kiss, a kiss would do it, then the game would be over. She'd have to run. She couldn't pull away though and she knew if he leaned just a bit closer…

A knock on the door drew her attention.

"Everything all right?" a woman called.

"Yes…fine," she called, her voice coming out a bit husky and she caught the look in Sherlock's eyes that told her he heard it too. _Bullocks! _

"We don't allow men in the changing rooms," the woman said.

"My husband wanted to see what the dress looked like, but I'll send him out," she said, catching the widening of Sherlock's eyes and unable to stop herself from grinning.

"All right then," the woman replied.

Sherlock stood up and released her shoulders, but he made no move toward the door.

"You heard her," she tried.

She needed him to leave so she could get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. She could see the look in his eyes, a look that told her he wasn't letting her out of his sight.

"And let you slip away?" he inquired.

"Where am I going to go? You'll be right outside the door."

Reluctantly he stepped out, but she could hear him right on the other side of the door. She picked up her dress and her pocketbook. This was going to complicate things and he probably wasn't going to be happy with the bill, but he was the one who followed her this time. She pulled out her transporter and teleported home.

* * *

Sherlock heard the zapping noise, same one he heard in that underground garage. A hint of ozone reached him even before he grabbed the handle and opened the door. Empty. He glanced around the room. Three walls and he was standing in the only exit. How the hell did she escape?

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	9. Protection

"Go away, Mycroft," Sherlock demanded, without taking his eyes from the cells under his microscope as he analyzed _her _lipstick. "I'm much too busy for whatever matter of national importance brought you to my door."

After she slipped through his fingers Sherlock had continued his trip to the hospital only to come back with the same results he left with. Inconclusive. Not even the computers could determine what the alloy was, which meant it was something no one had ever seen before and the last thing he wanted was for Mycroft to get wind of that. His brother would spare no expense to hunt her down and that was something Sherlock wouldn't allow.

"I'm sure you're quite busy with your little case, Sherlock, but this is much more important," Mycroft said.

"Important to you, you mean."

"I've recently signed a deal with PrimeTech," Sherlock paused, making sure to keep his eyes focused through the lenses so his brother wouldn't take note of his features. "It's a local company, very new, technology based."

"And you want me to run a background. Boring," he dismissed, knowing that's not what Mycroft was asking, but he couldn't let his brother know he knew anything about them.

"I've got my own people for that, Sherlock."

"And?"

"The company's background is clean as is the background of their founder, Trevor Lindquest."

"Then why are we having this conversation?"

"I believe he's hiding something from me. Something to do with his company."

Sherlock monitored himself. Making sure he didn't show any signs of a reaction. Mycroft was suspicious and that wasn't good.

"If you're so worried about it then why don't you check into it or is it the knee again?" Sherlock remarked, knowing if he agreed right away his brother would be suspicious of his motives, possibly find out he'd visited the company, which would endanger her friend, and, what's more, it would endanger her. He couldn't have that.

"You know I don't do leg work."

"I think they make creams for that," he replied, finally looking at his brother.

Mycroft shot Sherlock a disdainful glance.

"Droll."

"Any ideas?"

"They've made leaps in technology, but I've accounted for all their employees and none of them have the intelligence to account for the strides they've made."

"You believe they're stealing information."

"The thought has arisen."

"I'll look into it when I've more time," Sherlock said, busying himself with the microscope.

"Yes. Right," Mycroft said, walking toward the door. "You'll let me know?"

"Yes, yes, now go away," Sherlock replied, shooing his brother off.

He heard the door open and then close. Only then releasing a sigh. Mycroft was suspicious and that was very bad news for anyone on his brother's radar, which unfortunately was one of _her_ friends. There was only one thing he could do.

* * *

As Rose hung the gown in her closet she couldn't help smiling as she thought about Sherlock rushing back into that dressing room to find it empty. TROUBLE. Yes, he was trouble, using her transporter was trouble, but she didn't have a choice. Now, he'd have suspicions that her mystery ran deeper than he first thought, which was a whole other bag of trouble.

She walked into the kitchen to make herself a cuppa, trying not to think about Sherlock, which was nearly impossible. She knew if she closed her eyes she would still be able to feel his finger trace her scar. A scar she'd received after being burned by that laser, not once, but multiple times by a man who wanted to know what the dimension cannon was and how to use it. A man Mycroft reminded her of. He had that same air about him, the same feel.

She forced those memories away, back into that room. She didn't like thinking about that, about what happened in that universe. She wasn't afraid of Mycroft, she'd never been that person. She was wary, there was a difference.

* * *

"Why are you doing this?" Trevor asked.

Sherlock Holmes had burst into his office, informed him of Mycroft's suspicions and then not only offered a solution, but had put it in motion. Trevor heard all the stories about the man, knew that people considered the detective to be a psychopath. He didn't trust one word out of the man's mouth, especially after Rose told him she'd piqued Sherlock's interest.

Sherlock could tell Mr. Lindquest didn't trust his intentions. He knew the only way to make the man go along with the plan was to make him think there was another motivation.

"For two reasons. I know what you're hiding and I know _he _isn't dangerous," Sherlock said, noting the way Mr. Lindquest's eyes widened. "And I find besting my brother quite enjoyable."

Rose wouldn't have told the detective about Jax. So, he must have worked it out on his own or he was guessing. Trevor wasn't sure he believed the man wanted to help just to beat his brother at something. What else was there? Rose. Was this man interested in her? Well, she was much too good for the likes of him.

"And I'm sure you'll want me to make sure _everyone _knows about this," Trevor said, eyeing the man.

Sherlock gazed at Mr. Lindquest. He knew exactly what the man was referring to. If this suit and sandal wearing idiot thought he stood a chance with someone as Clever as her then he was more of an idiot than Sherlock deduced and that was saying something.

"Actually, I would prefer if you didn't tell her," he replied, choosing not to dance around the subject.

"You don't want her to know?" Mr. Lindquest asked, dropping the pretense.

Instead of answering Sherlock turned around and headed out of the office. He'd give it another day or so before telling Mycroft about his discovery. That the company wasn't stealing secrets, they were farming their work out and chose not to include that detail because of the person's sordid past. Someone who owed the detective a favor.

He headed back to his flat. The acid he used on the safe should've eaten its way through by now. He couldn't wait to find out what clues were hidden inside.

* * *

Rose rewound the camera footage on the empty building. In another universe it was a fish and chip shop. One she frequented with Mickey. In this one it appeared to have been some kind of deli before it went out of business. She couldn't find one image of Sherlock. He wasn't skulking outside as he had at the bank.

She knew he was clever and persistent enough to get into the safe. Maybe after she vanished from the changing room he realized he wasn't going to be able to get the drop on her. She'd been looking forward to teasing him again, but maybe it was just as well after that run in they had.

She'd lost control. She knew that. If it hadn't been for their interruption…she pulled back the smile that wanted to form. No, it was bad, there was nothing good about losing control, especially with him. The game was fun, but reality was dangerous. There were too many people who counted on her, too many responsibilities to allow herself to fall.

She could leave the clues and then text him from her other phone. The one that always came up blocked. She bought that back in Norway. She picked up the puzzle box, it was light, about the size of a jack-in-the-box. Jax manufactured it for her. It was puzzle of intellect. In order to open it you had to pull out the pieces a certain way. It was far more complex than any Earth puzzle box and, even with Sherlock's intellect, she wouldn't be surprised if it took him a good three hours to figure it out. She grinned. Inside he'd find his latest clues.

She punched the location into her teleporter and in the next moment she was standing just inside the building's back door. She started down the dark hall and entered the front of the business. Then she walked over to the counter and sat the puzzle box down, but before she could pull out her phone to text Sherlock she was stopped by the sound of his voice.

"Hello, Ms. Prentice. So good of you to join me," he said.

_Oh, bollocks! _

How the hell did he get inside the building without the cameras picking him up? She turned around and found him skulking in the shadowy corner by the entryway. He couldn't have seen her appearance from his vantage point. _Good. _She almost sighed, but held it back, pulling out a smile instead.

"Been waiting long?" she asked.

Sherlock had, in fact, been there for little over two hours. Taking the rooftop route this time to avoid her cameras. He entered through there and had been waiting in the front with a view of the only two entrances to this room. He heard the zapping accompanied by a flash of light and the scent of ozone in the air, but he didn't actually see her arrival. He didn't hear a single door open or close either. Her ability to get in and out of places without his knowledge was driving him mad.

After her sudden exit from the changing room he'd spent nearly an hour going over every inch of that room, much to the chagrin of the sales staff, but he had to know. How she escaped. The vent was far too small and that being the only other opening his mind was unable to deduce an answer. The three things that accompanied her appearances and disappearances – the sound, the flash of light, and the scent of ozone – couldn't be added up to reveal an answer.

"Not too long," he said, stepping out of the shadows and crossing the room toward her.

She wore a different disguise. Not the socialite or the personal assistant. Black trousers, trainers, and a pink tank top. His eyes kept traveling to her top, noting the way it was cut lower than anything she'd wore, outside of that gown. That's when he realized that this wasn't a disguise. This was her. The realization gave him an almost intimate feeling. That she stood before him, revealed. The woman beneath the many disguises.

His hand twitched as he felt his control slipping at the idea. His body wanting to reach for her. He clasped his hands behind his back, forcing himself to keep control, keep the upper hand.

He was determined to have her this time. There was no way for her to escape. He returned the smile she wore as he stopped in front of her, close enough to leave her in easy reach if she tried to escape.

"You've come quite far for a shop girl," he said.

She could've sworn she heard a bit of admiration in his tone and it made her grin. She noticed the way he positioned himself. Keeping her within reach. He wasn't planning on letting her get away this time, but if it came down to it she could teleport in front of him, not what she wanted to do, but she could do.

"Farther than you could imagine," she replied in that teasing way, as she tried to work out an escape plan.

He could see calculations going on behind her eyes as she glanced around the room, but not in an obvious way. The back hall, her point of entry, the ceiling, there were two vents, the walls, the only windows behind her as well as the front entrance. She was trying to work out an escape, but he wasn't going to let her get away this time. She was Very Clever. His hand twitched, but he forced the thoughts aside before he acted on them. An instinct that became stronger each time the met and he knew if these meetings persisted his control would slip and he'd be unable to stop himself, but for now he had control. He needed to use that to make her slip, to capture her.

"You may find my imagination to be quite _vast_," he said, gazing directly into her eyes.

"How _vast_?" she asked, stepping closer, a plan that would allow her escape having formed.

She could see his slips. See that his control was barely held in place, as was hers, but she had to gain the upper hand. Throw him off if her plan was going to work.

"Quite," he replied, his voice having dropped an octave, sending a shiver coursing through her, but she kept herself in control…barely.

She reached for one of the lapel on his jacket, under his open coat and ran her hand down it, closing the last few inches between them and heard his breath catch. Oh, yes, she was definitely in control. She pulled out her cheeky grin and watched that last bit of control waver behind his intense eyes.

"And how exactly," she began, holding his gaze as her hand trailed up his lapel until it stopped at the base of his neck, "would we test that?"

The last bit of his control snapped as twenty-four immediate ideas came to mind. He reached for her and that's when he realized she'd done it again. She stepped out of reach before he recovered. She was good. He caught her gaze, a grin surfacing as twenty-four ideas became thirty-eight. He hadn't counted on the handcuffs.

"How many pairs of handcuffs do you own?" he asked.

"Oh, I have quite a _vast _supply," she replied with that cheeky grin and that feeling of madness she elicited in him nearly overwhelmed him.

She was interesting, intriguing, and she drove him to distraction, but she was also the most Clever woman he'd ever met. She couldn't get away forever.

"Is this goodnight then?" he asked.

"Goodnight Sherlock," she replied before turning and walking out the front door.

"Until the next time," he called, before the door closed on her exit.

Oh, yes, he would definitely see her again. He grinned as he pulled out his lock picks and opened the cuffs, slipping them into his pocket before picking up the puzzle box she left behind. He turned it over in his hands. It was unlike any he'd ever seen, like her, it promised to be quite challenging.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	10. Losing Control

Since I'm almost finished with a chap for one of my other stories I thought I'd throw up another chap for this one. :)

* * *

John entered 221 and ascended the steps. He took the day off work and spent part of the morning going over his blog, looking for a case, a way to take Sherlock's mind off that woman. Marion, not her real name, but a name nonetheless. His friend hadn't gone out on a case since he became interested in her, though obsessed was a more accurate term. Something John was unable to wrap his mind around.

Sherlock had shown interest in _the woman_, but nothing like this. He was determined to take his friend's mind off of her and a case was the best way. He opened the door and found Sherlock sitting at the table in the living room, running some sort of search on his laptop. There was a strange sort of puzzle box to his friend's right.

"Found it," Sherlock announced as John crossed the room toward him.

"Found what?" he asked.

Sherlock glanced up, not having heard John enter the flat. He'd been too focused on finding the location of his next meeting with her. He took in the papers that his friend held. Printed from John's computer. A case.

"Nothing," Sherlock replied, closing his laptop and absentmindedly picking up the puzzle box as he sat back.

It'd taken him nearly two hours to solve it, quite an accomplishment for whoever made it. Handcrafted. Redwood. Not something she picked up in a shop. She'd had it specifically tailored for him.

John noted the way Sherlock picked up the puzzle box, gazing at it as one might gaze at a precious momento.

"Was that from her?" the doctor asked.

"Beautiful…" The gears in John's mind ground to a halt. Sherlock stroked it almost lovingly. "Beautiful craftsmanship."

"Um…Right." John mentally kicked himself to get his mind moving again. "Anyway, I found a case. I think you'll be interested. It seems this woman-"

"What time?" Sherlock interrupted, setting the puzzle box back on the table.

"Sorry?" John inquired, not sure what the detective was referring to.

"You've set up an interview. What time?"

"Oh. Um. She should be here in a few minutes."

"Good."

John expected a fight, some argument in which his friend would insist that he didn't have time because he had to solve some clue Marion left behind. Maybe he was wrong, maybe Sherlock lost interest.

"Not busy today then?" John asked.

"Not until this evening," Sherlock said, standing up.

"This evening?"

He followed the detective into the kitchen. Waiting for an answer as Sherlock put the kettle on, but his friend didn't respond, which meant it probably had to do with that woman. John sighed and was about to point out that Sherlock was becoming a bit obsessed over this whole thing when his eyes landed on two pairs of handcuffs next to the microscope.

The last set of handcuffs Sherlock used had been lifted from Greg. Had the inspector been by? Was that what Sherlock was busy with tonight? Some case he was working on his own? He reached for one, intent on asking his friend about the case.

"Don't touch those," Sherlock demanded, grabbing them from the table before John could so much as touch them.

"Um…okay," John said, wondering what the hell just got into his friend.

Sherlock slid them into his trouser pocket. He knew he'd snapped at John and his friend would be wondering what was going on, but he couldn't have John's fingerprints on them. He hadn't dusted them for prints yet. Something he planned on doing…later. And until he did he couldn't have anyone else touching them.

"They're…evidence," he replied, busying himself with a cup of coffee.

"Right," John replied, knowing that wasn't the case and wondering if and how those handcuff could be related to that woman.

He wasn't going to ask. He definitely wasn't going to ask.

"Client's here," Sherlock announced.

The sound of someone coming up the stairs drew his attention. Hopefully this case would get Sherlock's mind off that woman. Though, seeing the way his friend was acting he really doubted that.

* * *

Rose strapped the transporter to her wrist. She'd be out of London for the day. Back to Norway to check on her friends who stayed behind. Make sure they were all right and had everything they needed.

That's why she wasn't worried about keeping Sherlock occupied today. There would be no accidental run ins. She knew their game was becoming dangerous. He got the drop on her last night. She wasn't sure how he managed to get inside the building without the cameras picking it up. She'd have to be more careful, set some cameras up inside the next location. She knew she should stop, but she also knew if she did he'd come looking for her. Maybe go back to PrimeTech and she couldn't have that. Besides, she'd never been able to turn down the lure of danger. It was one of the things that made her work for Torchwood. Something she missed from her travels.

* * *

Sherlock stepped into his flat, followed by John. The case had taken all of five hours and only that long because Sherlock kept asking his friend what he thought happened. Since he had the time and wanted to use up as much as he could between then and his meeting tonight.

He already had a plan in mind. He knew she'd have camera inside the new location, bottom floor only and since he planned on coming in through the roof again he knew he could find a safe location to lay in wait for her.

She usually made an appearance between nine and ten, which meant he had roughly four hours until he had to be there. John wasn't happy with his interest in her. His friend hadn't said as much, but Sherlock could tell. John thought she was another Irene Adler, but she was far more Interesting. Far more Clever.

He sat down in his chair after hanging up his coat and scarf. Mrs. Hudson had brought tea in his absence. He busied himself making them each a cup. John sat down and he handed his friend's cup over.

"Um…thanks," John replied, giving Sherlock a quizzical glance.

Sherlock didn't reply, noting the confused look his friend wore. As if he'd never made John a cup, but he must have. They'd lived together for a few years. He was sure he'd done it in past.

"How's Mary?" he asked, to pass the time. Three hours and forty-two minutes.

"Um…She's good."

John wasn't sure what was going on with Sherlock. His friend wasn't one for small talk. Not usually.

"Good," Sherlock replied, sitting back and drinking his tea.

He'd been avoiding the subject while they were on the case, but now, with Sherlock sitting there and nothing better to do he decided to find out exactly what was going on with his friend and that woman.

"So," John said, sitting forward. "You've been seeing her then?"

Not really a question because he already knew, but he wanted to take in his friend's reaction to his words.

"Seeing who?" Sherlock asked, feigning ignorance.

"Marion."

Sherlock didn't think of her as Marion Prentice because that wasn't her real name. He'd referred to her as Ms. Prentice on a few occasions, but only because he didn't know her real name. Something he wanted desperately to learn.

"Why are you asking questions to which you already know the answer?" Sherlock asked, a bit impatiently.

He didn't want to talk about it, John could hear that in his friend's voice, but he wasn't letting Sherlock off that easily.

"You do remember what she did to you, why you were looking for her in the first place."

"Of course I remember, John, but she altered my memory to protect the people she cares about."

John paused. This being the first time he'd heard about that. Protecting the people she cares about? Did she tell Sherlock?

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"During out meeting at PrimeTech she asked that I leave and not return because she was afraid of drawing Mycroft's interest and therefore endangering her friend. Her primary focus is protecting the people she cares about. Somehow our first meeting must have made her feel threatened and she erased my memory in an effort to protect them," Sherlock explained, in that offhanded, why didn't John figure it out, sort of way.

John processed this information. His view of Marion changing. Irene had been all about protecting herself, but this new woman seemed more inclined to protect the people she cared about. Something Sherlock had done when he jumped from that building. Something John was also inclined to do. Not an Irene Adler then. His face lit up with a smile.

"Stop that," Sherlock insisted, upon seeing his friend's face light up.

"So…" John nodded to his friend's pocket. "Where do the handcuffs come in?"

* * *

Rose opened the safe and pulled out one of her _just in case_ supplies. Everything she'd brought with her from Torchwood was inside that safe and if she wasn't careful she'd wind up using all of them on Sherlock. Well, most of them. She didn't want to kill him.

She already watched the camera feed and according to it Sherlock wasn't inside or outside, but she knew better than to believe that after he got the drop on her. She grabbed another pair of handcuffs and slipped them into her pocket. Then she strapped on her teleporter.

In the next moment she was standing inside an unused office next to an old file cabinet, choosing to make her entrance next to one of the cameras. The door to the room was closed so he wouldn't be able to see her sudden appearance.

She started across the room, but stopped as the door opened and Sherlock stepped into the room.

He caught the look of surprise that crossed her eyes and couldn't help the smile that formed. She hadn't expected his entrance. He'd come in through the roof and waited at the turn in the stairwell. Waited for the sound that would tell him she arrived. As soon as he heard it he hurried down the stairs and into the room the sound had come from.

She caught the way his eyes roved over the room, trying to detect her point of entry and coming up blank. She returned his smile, recovering from the surprise.

"You're early," she teased.

"I believe we've already discussed my impatience," he replied, a teasing lilt in his own voice.

As he crossed the room toward her she began calculating an escape plan, but at the same time she couldn't help taking pleasure in the danger this posed. Of course she couldn't let things get to far, but she managed to keep control last time. Even if it had been barely held in place.

"Did you enjoy your trip out of London?" he asked.

Her eyes snapped to his and she caught the grin he gave her. How the hell did he know she left London? She teleported directly from her flat and then back at the end of the day. There's no way he could know, which meant he must have worked it out, but how.

"How did you know?" she inquired.

"The puzzle box wasn't a distraction, like the others. It was a gift."

He stopped in front of her, taking in her black trousers, different pair, powder blue top, and trainers. Her hair hung loose and was still a bit damp from the bath she'd had before she arrived. Both of his hands twitched at the sight, thirty-eight ideas springing to mind, but he clasped his hands behind his back. Focusing his mind on working out how she could possibly walk around London with the chill in the air and not wear even a light jacket.

At that moment she pulled out that cheeky grin and his mind decided there were thirty-eight other things it would much rather consider. His hands twitched again as his eyes traveled over her.

"Didn't solve it too quickly I hope," she replied.

"One hours forty-seven minutes."

She gave him a look of admiration and that look from her was all it took to crack his restraint. He grabbed her arms and backed her up the last few paces to the nearest wall. She gasped, first in surprise, but ending in pleasure. The sound nearly drove him out of his mind.

He held her gaze and the excitement mingling with the admiration behind her eyes was more than he could take. In that moment he'd never wanted anything in his entire life as much as he wanted her. To see every inch of her. To feel every inch of her. This woman whose name he didn't even know had become his entire world.

Rose's entire body erupted in fire. _Oh, god. _She'd never wanted anything as much as she wanted him in that moment, but this was beyond fun, beyond a game. One kiss would end it and part of her didn't care, wanted it to end if this was the way, but this wasn't just about her. She pulled the patch out and feigning a move to touch his neck she allowed the tranquilizers to seep into his skin. They were effective, fast acting. Before he knew what hit him he was passing out.

She held him against her, teleporting them both to his flat. It wouldn't do to leave him passed out in an abandoned building where anyone could find him. She laid him back in his chair, sliding the handheld into his pocket. His latest clues inside in the form of riddles, but first he had to crack the code. She grinned, gazing down at the sleeping man, wishing things were different, but knowing they weren't. She bent down and kissed his cheek, lovingly. Then she teleported home.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	11. Stardust

Even more cheeky...just saying. :)

* * *

"You must've had a night falling asleep in the chair," Mrs. Hudson said, her voice interrupting Sherlock's dream in which Ms. Prentice had been–

His eyes snapped open. Chair. Flat. Mrs. Hudson. How the hell could he be in his flat, sleeping in his chair? He'd been at that building with _her _and they'd been…well, he'd been…even the memory of that look in her eyes was more than he could handle.

"Mrs. Hudson," he insisted, standing up. His landlady glanced at him, startled by the insistence in his voice. "When did I get in last night?"

Ms. Prentice was shorter than him and she would've made noise struggling up the stairs, especially seeing as how he was unconscious. The more he thought about it the more he couldn't figure out exactly how she managed it on her own.

"I'm not sure. You must have been quiet as a mouse not to wake me," the woman replied.

How had she managed it? She'd given him some form of tranquilizer and then brought him home. She didn't want to leave him in an abandoned building on his own. He smiled, that thought coupled with the gift she'd given him making him realize that she felt something for him. Although he'd seen that last night when he…he pushed that thought away because even thinking about that drove him to madness.

There was something else he realized upon standing. The weight was off in his coat. Something was in his pocket that hadn't been there before. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handheld device. Similar to a mobile, but different. There was a small sliver button at the top. He clicked it and a touch screen appeared asking for an access code. He grinned. Seven digit sequence. This would take a while.

He sat back down. Mrs. Hudson sat his tea on the side table, but he paid little attention to it, his mind already working to crack the code and discover what secrets she'd left for him.

* * *

Rose stepped out of the shower and dressed in her clothes, not one of the disguises since she'd be spending most of her day in her flat. That posh event was tonight and until then she didn't have much to do, well, except think about what almost happened last night and how much she'd wanted it to happen.

That had been dangerous and…thrilling. Yes, definitely thrilling. That smoldering look in his eyes that told her exactly what he wanted to do and she'd wanted to do it too. She shoved the thoughts aside, the memories before she had to take another shower. This one cold.

She planned on dropping off another clue tonight after the party, but as dangerous and complicated as things were becoming between her and Sherlock maybe this should be the last night. End it before things went too far because last night was too close. If she hadn't given him that sedative he would've kissed her, more than kissed her. _Bollock! _She was thinking about it again.

* * *

Sherlock finally managed to crack the code. Five hours and twenty-nine minutes. Complex, but not meant to distract him. She was either out of town or staying in for the day. At that moment the door opened and Mycroft stepped into his flat.

Sherlock stood up, sliding the device into his pocket to keep it away from his brother's prying eyes. He walked over to the window and picked up his bow, seeming to inspect it.

"To what do I owe the displeasure?" he asked.

"PrimeTech," Mycroft said. "Have you made any progress?"

Sherlock used his bow to point at some papers on the table. Papers that held the evidence that the company was farming out their developments. The cover-up done so well not even Mycroft would be able to see through it.

"You were right, of course," Sherlock dismissed. "They were hiding the fact that they were using someone they wanted to keep off the books."

Mycroft read through the papers. His eyes widening for a moment.

"I see."

"At least they had the foresight to keep him off the books."

"Yes, well…" His brother trailed off.

Sherlock could tell it wasn't what Mycroft expected, but that his brother also believed the lie. Good. As he watched Mycroft's gaze fell on the puzzle box on the other side of Sherlock's laptop. Curious and then interested. He caught the way his brother's muscles shifted, but Sherlock hurried over and picked it up before Mycroft could touch it. His brother gave him a surprised, quizzical glance.

"It was a…gift," he revealed.

More surprise and then interest. Sherlock walked over and sat the puzzle box on the window sill. As far away from his brother as he could manage without actually leaving the room.

"From?"

"Someone."

More interest.

The last thing Sherlock wanted was for Mycroft to find out about her. He intended to keep his brother as far away from her as possible.

"And does this someone have a name?" Mycroft asked.

"Yes, but I'm not about to tell you…" he trailed off, almost having revealed that the person in question was a woman. "Don't you have some party tonight? I wouldn't want to keep you."

"Yes. Right. Well…" Mycroft held the paper. "I'll make sure to speak with Mr. Lindquest at the party tonight."

"He'll be there?" Sherlock asked, unable to keep his interested in check.

Would that mean she would be there? The dress! That's why she was shopping for an evening gown. For the party. Of course!

"Yes. Why?" Mycroft paused, having heard the change in Sherlock's voice.

"No reason," he dismissed, picking up his violin and beginning to play.

A few minutes later he heard the door close. She would be at that party, which meant he would be at that party. That would definitely throw her off her game and then he would catch her.

* * *

Rose dressed for the party and gazed at herself in the mirror, reminded of her encounter with Sherlock in the changing room. The way he touched her. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath, pushing those thoughts from her mind. She had to maintain control. She would be seeing him again after the party. She wasn't foolish enough to think he wouldn't find a way past her cameras.

She hadn't decided if this would be their last meeting. She knew it should be. For her to maintain her disguise, to keep her friends safe. Still, it was hard because as much as she told herself it was just a game she knew she had feelings for him and her feelings had always run deep.

She forced those thoughts aside as she sat down to do her hair, pinning it up to complete the disguise. Posh socialite.

* * *

Sherlock stepped through the door, purposely thirty minutes late. He didn't want to catch her arriving. He wanted to wait until she was settled, mingling, occupied. His eyes roved around the room, but it didn't take him long to spot her. On Mr. Lindquest's arm, but that was for show.

There were couples dancing between them. He walked around the room, never taking his eyes from her, a plan already in place. He needed to throw her off her game and then get her alone. Tonight he would capture her.

Rose laughed at the jokes, even if they weren't funny. _God this was boring. _It wasn't like one of the parties her mum threw. Posh, but fun. This was a lot of mingling. A lot of talking to stiff posh blokes, people who might invest in Trevor's company.

She liked Trevor, he was good friend, though she knew he wanted to be more, but she didn't see him like that. She hoped he'd want to go soon, especially since he wasn't one for dancing. That would at least pass the time.

"Care to dance?" a familiar voice asked.

Sherlock watched her eyes battle shock and surprise when she looked up. For a moment he thought she might try to flee, but she surprised him by smiling.

"I'd love to," she replied taking the arm he offered. "Won't be too long." She called to Trevor as Sherlock led her out on the dance floor.

How the hell did he find her? It was a coincidence, had to be, though she knew better. Somehow he found out she'd be there. The only way for her to get away was to play along. As long as there were people around he wouldn't try anything…would he?

He took her hand, wrapping the other around her waist and pulled her close, surprising her. She grinned and they began to move around the dance floor.

"You're very good," she commented, which was true. He was a better dancer than most of the blokes she'd danced with, but she wasn't just talking about the dancing.

"You're not bad yourself," he replied, smiling.

She was graceful, but he expected that. Having her this close was…difficult. He barely held his control in place as they moved over the floor. He focused on her eyes to keep them from roving over the top of her dress, her neck, her lips.

"Is this your plan then? To sweep me off my feet?" she asked, pulling out a cheeky grin.

He pulled her closer so their faces were inches from each other. She couldn't stop her surprise from surfacing. His eyes locked with hers.

"Oh, I plan on doing much more than that," he replied, sending a shiver down her spine.

She had to get out of there before she lost control, before she gave into temptation. Her eyes traveled to his lips. RUN. Her mind mentally slapped her and she pushed away from him, turning and hurrying across the room.

Sherlock allowed her to flee. She was running exactly where he wanted her. He made his way across the room, seeming casual when in fact his strides were calculated, intent on his destination.

Rose reached for her coat, pulling it off the rack. She had to hurry. Get the hell out of there before –

"Leaving so soon?" Sherlock asked.

_Bollocks! _He was standing behind her. She could feel his eyes on her. That thought sent a wave of heat through her body. She turned around intent on finding some way out of this, but he had other plans. He reached for her before she could react. One arm wrapping around her waist and in the next moment he had her against the wall. She gasped.

"I'm afraid I can't let you get away this time," he continued, his voice dropping an octave, sending a shiver through her body.

He couldn't let her slip away again. He would have her if it was the last thing he did. He could feel the heat from her body mirroring the desire he felt. She wanted this as much as he did and he wasn't going to let her deny that.

"Is that so?" she asked, her own voice coming out husky.

RUN. Her mind screamed. She knew this was the end. If she didn't get away at that moment everything would change. The game would be over, but she could no sooner stop this than she could take her eyes from his.

With reflexes faster than she would've believed possible he took her wrists and held them against the wall above her head. Before she could wonder what he planned he smiled.

"Wouldn't want to wake up in my chair again," he explained, his voice having gone a bit lower.

She grinned, bit cheeky at his actions.

"With all the running around you've been doing I thought you would enjoy a bit of sleep."

He took in every inch of skin her dress revealed for emphasis. It was all he could do not to take her right there. From the look in her eyes he knew she was thinking the same thing.

"Sleep is the furthest thing from my mind, at the moment."

At that moment the tip of her tongue poked out and he could no longer hold back his desire. He captured her lips with his own. _Stardust. _The word exploded inside his mind and with it his lost memories. The restaurant. Her credit card. Finding her at his flat. His suspicions. Her revelations. _Rose Tyler. _Her name. The most extraordinary woman he'd ever met. Not from this universe. Traveler. She was more than he could've dreamed possible.

Rose's mind exploded. _Oh god. _She was lost, had lost, but in that moment she didn't care because this…this was what she had been longing for since their first kiss. Him. This extraordinary man. The soft hungry caress of his lips.

He released her wrists, cupping the back of her neck as he deepened their kiss, wrapping his other arm around her waist, pulling her against him. He pulled her hair lose, wanting to touch every inch of her.

She wove her hand into his hair, her other hand finding its way to the open front of his shirt, grazing his exposed skin. He was soft and sweet and dangerous and she knew she couldn't stop even if she wanted to. He responded to her touch by lifting her from the floor and pressing her firmly against the wall, his body pressing into hers.

Her fingers grazing his chest sent his mind into a whirl of madness, madness that could only be cured by the cause. She was about to find out what all that teasing had done to him. The sound of a throat being cleared invaded his thoughts, but he ignored it. Claiming his prize for capturing her was far more important than anything else.

Rose heard the man clear his throat. Her eyes opened and she saw him. Standing mere feet from them. _Bollocks! _Sherlock was choosing to ignore the invasion, but she knew that's because he didn't know who was standing in the room with them. She placed her hands on his chest in an effort to make him understand.

He felt her change. Something was wrong. As much as he wanted to continue what they were engaged in he needed to find out what had put this sudden change in her. He ended their kiss and helped her back to the floor before turning his attention to…Mycroft. _Brilliant. _

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	12. Escape

Thank you for all the brilliant comments for the last chapter! Sorry I didn't get more out yesterday. Had a completely crazy day. :)

* * *

DANGER. Her mind screamed. Rose had milliseconds to come up with a plan to get the hell out of there. Sherlock was TROUBLE, Mycroft was DANGEROUS, but together they were brothers and as she took in the man's shocked face, looking at if someone…a plan formed. She reached out and slapped Sherlock across the face. A right good Jackie Tyler slap because it had to be realistic or Mycroft would never buy it.

Before he could recover she snatched up her coat and pocketbook from the floor and stormed out of there, hurrying past the elder Holmes and hoping the shock of her actions would keep his mind occupied. She felt horrible, not sure if Sherlock would understand her actions were a means of escape, but then maybe it was better if he didn't because things between them had become too complicated, too dangerous, too real.

She only had one choice. She had to run.

Sherlock had never been slapped like that in all his life. Half his face erupted in pain, but at the same time he knew it was her means of escape. She knew how dangerous Mycroft could be. She'd already told him as much. She was trying to escape, but not just the party.

Panic gripped his chest as he realized her plan. What she was about to do. RUN. Now that he remembered who she was he realized that she must have some sort of technology that allowed her to get in and out of places. How far could that technology take her?

He had to find her before she disappeared. Before he lost her forever. He hurried across the room, ignoring his brother, but Mycroft grabbed his arm as he passed.

Mycroft wasn't an idiot. He knew that slap was staged. He'd seen the look in her eyes while his brother was…he didn't even want to think about it. How far Sherlock had fallen. Swimming with the goldfish had changed him. Still, he had to wonder what drew his brother to that woman. Was she another Irene Adler or was this some ploy on Sherlock's part.

That's when he remembered the puzzle box. _A gift. _No, this wasn't a ploy. Who was she? Did she pose a threat? Well, she seemed to have his brother wrapped around her finger and that was enough of a threat. He grabbed Sherlock's arm as he passed.

"Who is she?" Mycroft asked, glancing at Sherlock disapprovingly.

"She's none of your concern," Sherlock replied, glaring at his brother.

By coming there he had inadvertently brought about Mycroft's attention. Focusing it on her, but she was far too important to allow his brother to interfere.

"Since the last woman you became interested in nearly bankrupted the country I beg to differ."

"She doesn't pose a danger to you or the country."

"I'll be the judge of that."

Sherlock grabbed Mycroft's wrist. Applying just enough pressure to make the man wince. Then he glared into the man's eyes, bending very close to him.

"Don't challenge me on this, brother mine," Sherlock warned.

He released his brother's wrist, retrieved his coat, and walked out of the room.

The cool night air struck him as he hurried outside. He glanced around the street, but she was nowhere to be found. Quickly, he pulled out his phone and began searching her name. He had to find her before she vanished. Before she was gone forever.

* * *

Rose stuffed the contents of her safe into her bag, the one she had with her with she first arrived in that universe. She couldn't stay. Not now. Not after drawing Mycroft's attention. It was too dangerous. If he found her friends he'd use them or lock them away and let someone experiment on them and she couldn't chance that.

She pushed all thoughts of Sherlock from her mind because if she allowed herself to think about him she'd break down. She could feel it. The loss. It was there just under the surface. To come so close to having someone again and then lose them. It was too much.

Her mobile chimed. She pulled it out thinking that it was Trevor or, perhaps, one of her friends. That was another thing she needed to do. Let them know. Put the steps into action to protect them.

_Dinner?_

_-SH_

Sherlock? How the hell…but she knew. He remembered. She sighed. Dinner. She couldn't. There wasn't time. For all she knew Mycroft was headed to her flat. She typed out a reply.

Sherlock waited for her reply as the wind whipped his coat, but he ignored the cold. He wasn't even sure if she was still in town, but he hoped. Hoped he wasn't too late to stop her. His phone chimed.

_I can't._

_-RT_

She was still there, which meant there was still time to stop her. He didn't know how he was going to get her to stay, but he would do whatever he had to because he couldn't lose her.

Rose pushed back the tears that threatened to come as she turned back to her task. Another sigh. Now wasn't the time. She could lose it later. After everyone was safe. Her mobile chimed again. She pulled it out.

_Please._

_-SH_

He waited for her reply. He wasn't sure what he would do if she refused. Go to her flat, find a way to make her stay. He didn't want to do that yet though. He wanted her to come to him, if she would. That had been their game. He would come and she would escape. He would wait for her and she would elude him. His phone chimed again.

_Where?_

_-RT_

She knew it was dangerous. Beyond dangerous, but he deserved a goodbye. Something she never got and she didn't want to make him live without one as she'd had to. It wasn't fair and after everything he deserved that much. Her mobile chimed.

_221B._

_-SH_

Sherlock didn't have long to wait for her reply.

_Be there in 20._

_-RT_

He smiled as he slid his phone into his pocket and hailed the first cab. It wasn't the dinner he would've planned, but until he implemented the steps that would protect her and her friends he didn't want her out in the open. Not after drawing Mycroft's interest.

He could handle his brother, but he needed time for that. A day, maybe two after that Mycroft would leave her alone because he'd have no choice. Mycroft might control the British government, but Sherlock knew his secrets and if he had to use them to protect her then that's what he would do.

Rose finished packing her bag and then changed into something that was more her. There was no sense in pretense anymore. She just finished dressing when the front door opened.

Adrenalin flooded her body. Her first thought was that Mycroft had found her. She glanced around her room, but she didn't have any weapons in there and her transporter was still in her pocketbook in the front room.

Three gunshots drew her attention. In the next moment pain lanced through her mind and she didn't have to see it to know Frank was hit. In the next moment the last person she expected stepped into her room.

She had enough time to realize that he was pointing a tranquilizer gun at her and that it likely wasn't the one he shot Frank with before he fired. She was struck in the shoulder. She pulled it out intent on getting the hell out of there, but the effects were almost instantaneous. She swayed.

"What the hell are you doing?" she demanded, but her voice was already growing weak.

"Helping you make the right choice," he replied.

Her mind was too muddled to figure out what the hell he was talking about. She dropped to her knees. He reached her then. She tried to shove him away, but in the next moment the darkness took her.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)**


	13. Rescue

It took Sherlock twenty minutes to realize she wasn't coming. It was the longest twenty minutes of his life. She was late. Why would she be late? She'd always been on time before. Did she change her mind? Would she text him if she had? Did she lie to him? Tell him she was coming to give herself more time to escape?

His emotions, emotions he usually kept at bay overwhelmed him. Making it nearly impossible for him to think. Worry that something delayed her, Mycroft perhaps. Fear that she was gone and there was no way for him to find her, to bring her back. Loss that he would never again see her.

When he was able to find all of those horrid emotions, to set them aside, to look at things with the cold reasoning that allowed him to solve cases, to catch the serial killer he realized there was only one answer. No.

No, she wasn't late. She had never been late and if she were she would've sent him a message. No, she didn't change her mind. If she had, again, she would've sent him a message. Possibly from her blocked phone, but there would've been a text. No, she didn't lie to him. Even when she was evading him she hadn't lied. She didn't do that. Which only left one possible scenario. Something happened.

He pulled up her address, threw on his coat, and headed to her flat. If Mycroft had her then his brother was about to find out that his threat hadn't been idle.

* * *

Rose opened her eyes. She felt groggy, but the effects were beginning to wear off. The first thing she noticed was that she was sitting. In a chair. Hands bound behind her back.

The lighting in the room was strange. She glanced around. Candles. Everywhere. They were on the table in front of her, the counters, even the floor. Where the hell was she?

"There she is," he said, crossing the room toward her.

Her eyes snapped to him. Trevor. What the hell did he think he was doing? Why?

"What is this?" she asked.

"Dinner," he said, setting the takeout cartons on the table and then proceeding to fill both plates.

"Trevor, look," she replied, trying to reason with him. "I…I don't know what you think you're doing, but-"

"We're having dinner. That's what we're doing."

He continued to dish up the plates as if everything was normal. As if she weren't tied to a chair in his flat. As if he hadn't killed…she pushed that thought aside. She could morn Frank later, right now she had to find a way to get the hell out of there.

"I thought we were friends."

His entire demeanor changed as he glared at her.

"Friends? You think I want to be your friend? You know how I feel about you, but you couldn't even give me a chance could you?"

Wait. He killed Frank and kidnapped her because he loved her? That was completely mental. They were friends. Had been friends for a few months. They met in Norway when he was on vacation. He found out about Jax by accident and she almost erased his memory, but he'd taken it well, even offered to let Jax work for him, to keep her friend hidden.

"I'm sorry, Trevor, really. It's-"

He slammed the takeout carton down.

"It's not me it's you, right? And who would you rather be with? That psychopath? I won't let you put yourself in danger by hanging around him."

_Yeah, and breaking into my flat, killing my friend, tranqing me and tying me to a chair's sane? _

"Just untie me, yeah? We can talk about this," she tired.

If she could get her hands free she could get out of there. That's all she needed. A chance. One chance to escape.

"I'm not an idiot, Rose. You don't see me like that, but you will. Might take a week or a month, but eventually you'll see."

Wait. What? He was planning on keeping her there until she cared about him? Well, that wasn't going to happen.

"You can't keep me here that long," she protested.

"Why? Because someone might come looking for you?" Her eyes widened as the realization sunk in. "There isn't anyone else." She kept her true self a secret to protect her friends, but that left her vulnerable. "I'm the only one who knows who you are, which is why I'm the one you should be with. I already know everything about you and I still love you. Once you understand that you'll see things differently."

He pulled out a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass. Trevor didn't know Sherlock knew, but would the detective come looking for her or would he think she stood him up? That she ran.

* * *

The first thing Sherlock noticed upon entering her flat was Frank. The alien. He was lying on the floor in a pool of what must have been blood, but the coloring was off. Other than that there appeared to be no signs of a struggle. There was an open kitchen on the side with a bar separating the two rooms. Empty.

He walked down the hall. There was an open door to his right. Her bedroom. He could see some sort of syringe on the floor. He walked over and picked it up. Tranquilizer. From a tranquilizer gun. Someone took her.

He shoved his emotions aside. He had to find her. He couldn't call Lestrade. Not with Frank's body in the other room. There was something…he inhaled. Strawberry and Jasmine. Her scent was there, but there was something else. Cologne and body wash. Mr. Lindquest.

He pulled out his mobile and ran a search. He located the man's address and started for the door as one emotion took hold. Anger. He sent a text to John, not wanting to take any chances. Mr. Lindquest killed Frank and used a tranquilizer gun on Rose, which meant he had weapons.

* * *

Rose tried to come up with a plan. Some means of escape, but Trevor was beyond mental. Why he would think that keeping her tied up, keeping her prisoner would somehow make her fall in love with him was beyond crazy.

"There are people who depend on me, Trevor," she tried. "They need me."

She knew it was futile, trying to make him see reason, but she had to try something.

"That's one of the things I love about you. You care so much, but you don't have to worry about them," he replied.

The way he said that gave her pause.

"What do you mean?"

"I took care of the one back at your flat."

"Frank," she said.

She knew he shot Frank, something she was trying not to think about.

"And Jax."

"Jax?" Fear flooded through her heart. "Trevor, what did you do?"

"Don't worry. I took care of his body. I didn't want anyone to trace him back to you."

Jax wasn't dangerous. He was kind. He trusted her to keep him safe and now he was dead by the hand of someone she thought she could trust.

"You…you killed him? Why?" she demanded.

"To free you. You've spent the last seven months watching out for them, but you deserve more. You deserve a life," he said.

"I already have a life."

"Helping everyone else? What kind of life is that?"

It's the life she always wanted, ever since her travels with the Doctor. She worked for Torchwood so she could help. It was a better life and now she wouldn't even have the small semblance that she created. She'd have nothing.

"It's what I want," she said.

"No, it's what you think you want. There's a difference. You'll see how much better it is once you don't have to worry about everyone else," he explained.

A knock at the door drew his attention. He stood up and then eyed her.

"Now, keep quiet. Wouldn't want to have to hurt anyone else," he warned, pulling his jacket back so she could see the gun. Probably the one he used on Frank.

She watched him step through the entryway and into the kitchen. Once he was out of sight she struggled with the ropes. If her hands weren't behind the chair she could get to her sonic, but it was in her pocket. _Damn! _

A scuffle from the other room drew her attention, but before she could wonder what was going on the window to her right opened and the one man in all of London she'd been hoping for climbed in the room. He took in the room and then hurried over to her. Untying her hands.

"You came," she whispered, unable to keep herself from grinning.

"Of course I came," he replied, giving her a smile as he finished untying the knot.

She threw her arms around his neck and he held her, grateful that she was unharmed. The worry that he felt finally draining away.

"I thought…I thought you'd think I stood you up," her breath ghosting across his neck and it was all he could do not to kiss her right there, present danger or not.

"You wouldn't do that," he replied into her hair.

"No," she replied, pulling back and gazing into his eyes. "I wouldn't."

At that moment Trevor walked into the room followed by John who was holding a gun on him. John took in the way Sherlock was holding her as they gazed at each other. He smirked.

"If you two could spare a moment I was wondering what we're going to do with him," John asked.

"We can't call Lestrade," Sherlock replied.

"Why? He kidnapped her and held her against her will."

"He also killed two of my friends, but he won't see any prison time for that," Rose added.

"Wait. What?" John asked, glancing from her to Sherlock.

If this bloke killed two of her friends why wouldn't he go to prison?

"Could you hold him here? There's something I need to get from my flat."

She started across the room, but Sherlock grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

"Don't be long," he said, gazing into her eyes. "We have unfinished business."

She cupped his cheek and gave him a cheeky grin.

"I know," she said.

John grinned. He couldn't help it. He'd seen Sherlock with Irene and he'd also seen his friend fake a relationship, but this was something else entirely. She stepped away and continued across the room, but he noticed the way Sherlock's eyes didn't leave her until the door closed.

That's when the detective turned to Mr. Lindquest and the look he wore told John one thing. When she returned the man wasn't going to be in the same condition he'd been in when she left.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	14. Punishment

For SayaSweeper212. Happy birthday! :D

Now, the next chapter is THE chapter and I'm sure you know what I mean by THE chapter...cue eyebrow wiggle...wink...hint hint. :)

* * *

Sherlock heard the sound that told him she was back. Hallway because he hadn't seen the flash of light. It should've taken her twenty-seven minutes at least, the time it took him and he'd taken the rooftop route, but she'd only been gone half that time. She must be using some form of other world technology, but he still hadn't figure out what it was.

"What was that?" John asked.

"She's back," he replied and a moment later the door opened and she entered the flat.

"Wait. How did you get here so fast?" his friend asked.

She grinned.

"Prepare to be amazed Doctor Watson," she replied.

"John," he corrected.

"I know. I just love saying Doctor Watson to Doctor Watson. How many people get to do that?"

"Um…okay," John replied, thinking she was a bit mental, but then that was probably good seeing as how Sherlock could be a bit mental…okay, more than a bit sometimes. He grinned.

He noted the way Sherlock's eyes softened when the detective looked at her and his grin turned into a smirk. One his friend noticed.

"Shut up, John," Sherlock snapped.

She stopped as her eyes fell on Trevor who was slouched in the chair she'd been tied to. He was sporting a black eye, a cracked lip that was swelling, those being the only injuries visible.

"And what do you call this?" she asked, eyeing the detective who had purposely averted his gaze.

She turned her attention to John.

"Um…he fell," the doctor explained.

"Fell?" She gazed around the flat. "From where?"

"Tripped actually," Sherlock said. "Over the chair, striking the table, then the floor, tried to get up and struck the table again."

"And the chair," John added.

"Yes, and the chair."

Rose glanced between them. It wasn't the truth, she could see that. She grinned and Sherlock returned her smile.

"Suppose we won't need the gun then," she said, glancing at John before turning her attention to Sherlock. "Do you think you can help him up without letting him trip?"

"If I have to," he replied, grabbing Trevor's arm and pulling the man up.

Trevor's eyes opened and he glanced around wildly before his eyes landed on the detective holding him by the arm. His eyes widened.

"Just stand there like a good boy and you won't have to trip again," Rose said sporting a grin that Sherlock had never seen and could only be described by one word. Wicked. He found it even more appealing than her cheeky grin and it was all he could do not to sod the whole thing and grab her, but he held his control…barely.

She lifted her arm and pulled her sleeve back, revealing a device strapped to her wrist. Leather with a touch screen built in. She typed something in he didn't quite catch.

"Sorry, John. I can only take three. Anymore and the transporter gets a bit unreliable," she said. "But it's late and you're probably tired anyway."

"Um…okay," John said, not entirely sure what she was going on about.

She took Sherlock's hand and wove it around her waist.

"Hold on," she said.

He pulled her close to his side and bent down next to her ear.

"I think I can manage that," he whispered.

_Good thing he did that after I punched in the location or we might wind up anywhere. _She thought as a wave of heat passed over her body. She hit the button and in the next moment they were standing in a vast desert.

John blinked. They were gone. Just gone. There was a zapping noise, a flash of light, and all three of them vanished. How the hell did she do that? He thought back to the alley and then the abandoned bank. Transporter. Who the hell was she?

Sherlock glanced around the desert, taking in the view as pieces to her puzzle fell into place. Transporter. Teleporter. That's how she got away. That's how she managed to escape each time.

"Sahara Desert," he said, releasing Trevor with a shove.

"Seemed fitting," Rose said.

Trevor's eyes widened.

"Wait. But you can't-" he began.

He was cut off as she pulled a pack off her shoulder and tossed it at his feet.

"Six bottles of water and some dehydrated food," she said.

"Center?" Sherlock asked.

"Close, yeah."

The man began to panic, gazing around wildly.

"I'll die," Trevor protested.

"Probably," the detective said. "But if you conserve your supplies, find shade, travel at night there's always a possibility."

Trevor turned his panicked gaze on her.

"Rose, you can't…you can't do this to me."

The anger she felt in that moment she'd only ever felt a few times in her life. It was true that she cared, too much some would say and had, but her friends were important to her and although Trevor had been her friend he'd take two of them from her. Two people who trusted her to protect them.

"It's more than you deserve," she snapped, eyeing the man.

"But this isn't you. You're not like this."

"You have no idea who I am, what I've done. They were my friends and you took them from me and I can never get them back, but I can make sure you won't hurt anyone else," she yelled, anger overriding everything else.

In the next moment she typed something into her transporter, took Sherlock's arm and they were standing in his flat at Baker Street.

* * *

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Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	15. The Prize

Warning - Cold showers may be required...just saying. :)

* * *

"Tea?" Rose asked, releasing Sherlock's hand, but he captured her hand and pulled her to him. She grinned.

"I'm in the mood for something else entirely," he growled in a low voice, gazing into her eyes. "But first…" He pulled her teleporter off her wrist and slid it into his trouser pocket before she could take it back.

"What're you doing?" she demanded.

"That device is an unfair advantage, Ms. Tyler."

Before she could protest further he captured her lips, looping an arm around her waist and lifting her as he spun thirty degrees so she was against the wall near the door while he shrugged out of his coat and scarf, never breaking contact as he allowed his garments to fall to the floor. Her mind exploded in desire. The same desire she felt every time she looked at him.

As he deepened the kiss a rush of heat flooded through her body. His hand found its way to the side of her neck, his finger sliding back and forth along her exposed skin. _Oh, god. _She let out a low gasp of pleasure.

_This_ was what she wanted. What she'd been longing for since their first kiss. His touch elicited responses in her body, responses she hadn't felt in years. It was as if he knew exactly where to touch her.

Her gasp was enough to bring the madness back, madness that only she created within him. His body responded to the sound of her voice as if it were always meant to. He pinned her further against the wall, releasing her lips to caress the skin of her neck with hungry lips that wanted to feel every inch of her body.

Rose could no longer hold back the desire he elicited in her. She slid her hands under the back his shirt collar, trailing her nails over his skin. He growled, bringing out that cheeky grin, but in the next moment he nipped at her neck and another gasp escaped her lips.

"You drive me mad," he whispered into her ear, his warm breath ghosting across her skin. _Oh, god. _

She shivered. Before she could reply he captured her lips. She pulled his shirt from his trousers. Trailing her nails across his lower back and was rewarded by another low growl. She grinned into their kiss and was punished by a nip to her lower lip, but _god_ what a punishment that was.

The feel of her nails on his skin was enough to enhance the madness that had taken him over body and mind. He wanted her, more than he'd ever wanted anything and he would have her. He wrapped his arm around her waist and stepped away from the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist.

He could feel the heat of her desire radiating from her body to his and it was all he could do not to take her right there on the floor, but he held himself back as he carried her across the room, through the kitchen, down the hall and into his room without breaking contact. One hand around her waist while the other slid under her tank top, trailing his own nails across her back. He was rewarded by a moan and the last bit of his rational mind snapped. He threw her down, trapping her on his bed. He tasted the skin of her neck and then the exposed skin of her chest. His other hand slid under her tank top, exploring first her stomach and then higher. Her breath hitched, making him grin.

He had never before lost control over a woman. He was always able to keep his emotions separate. Not even _the woman _had this much control over him, but Rose Tyler wasn't just a woman. _Stardust. _She was so much more. He spent days chasing her and every time she eluded him. Slipped through his fingers, but not anymore. He finally had her and he was never letting her go. He captured her lips for a moment before pulling back to gaze into her eyes.

"You're mine, Rose Tyler," he said, a statement not a question, his voice dropping a few octaves.

She grinned and with strength he wouldn't have believed she possessed she rolled him onto his back, trapping him between her thighs. She trailed her own kisses up his neck, excruciatingly slow. His entire body erupted in fire. He grabbed the sheets as his breath caught in his throat. She pressed that cheeky grin against the skin of his neck. Then she bent next to his ear, her hair teasing his neck.

"And you, Sherlock Holmes are mine," she whispered.

With those catlike reflexes he possessed he trapped her beneath him once again and somehow managed to remove her tank top in the process. She grinned as she caught his smoldering gaze.

"That is an unfair advantage, Mr. Holmes," she said, her grin turning cheeky as she reached up and snapped all the buttons off his shirt in one move. His room was filled with the sound of buttons striking walls and the floor. He grinned.

"Forty-two," he replied.

"Forty-two what?" she asked, but every thought was banished from her mind as he trailed slow kisses down her stomach. _Oh, god! _

Her mind exploded in desire. Her hands found their way into his soft curls. She moaned and in the next moment his mouth was on hers, but he pulled back a moment later and caught her gaze.

"You'll find out."

Before she could take in his words his lips were again exploring her body, leaving behind a trail of heat. She slid her nails down his back, but gasped as he nipped her belly, releasing a growl in response and in the next moment his hands were on her trousers.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**


	16. Loose Ends

Sherlock picked up his phone from the nightstand, glancing at the woman sleeping in his bed. A woman who had, in a very short time, become his entire world. He'd made a promise a long time ago, a promise he was about to break, for her because he would do anything to keep her safe.

He stepped over to the window, using the moonlight to see, not wanting to wake her. He typed out the text and sent it to the one person he trusted to hold the secrets he uncovered during the years he spent taking apart Moriarty's criminal web. There was a picture. One that would keep her safe.

He gazed out at the dark London night as he waited for the reply. The city seemed different somehow, but he knew that the city hadn't changed. He was different, he glanced at her sleeping form. He was different because of her. His phone vibrated. He glanced at the text.

_It's done._

_IH_

* * *

Mycroft awoke to the sound of his phone. He sat up, groggy from sleep and irritated that it had been disturbed. He picked up his mobile and opened the attached image. He nearly dropped his phone at the sight.

How? But he knew. Sherlock. Somehow his brother found proof. The secret he'd been hiding for seventeen years. Sherlock knew, of course, but he swore he'd never release the information, never use the secret that haunted Mycroft.

The woman. Rose Tyler. This was about her. He'd already turned up her background, noticed the holes and he'd been about to pull them apart, but now, now he had no choice, but to sit back and watch this charade crash down around his brother. Maybe Sherlock would learn his lesson then. There's no room for sentiment.

* * *

"What're you doing?" her sleepy voice reached him as Sherlock sat his phone back on the nightstand.

"Tying up some loose ends," he replied. He climbed back into bed next to her. "You should be asleep."

He kissed her forehead and then caught her gaze as she shifted closer, propping her hand under her cheek.

She grinned. She couldn't help it. After being alone for so long it was nice to be with someone. Together. Their entire relationship had been based on a game and she wasn't sure if this was it. End of the game. End of them.

"I was going to leave," she said.

He knew she wasn't talking about his flat. She'd been packing, he'd seen that in the bag on her dresser.

"And now?" he asked, hoping she'd changed her mind, but wondering if he was enough to make her stay.

He was Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective. Genius. But she was…more.

"I've never been the girl who ran away. I know Mycroft's dangerous. I've been around someone like him before," she said, her eyes taking on a haunted look and one that sent anger coursing through him as he remembered her scar. "But I don't want to run."

"Good," he replied, grinning.

"Good?" she asked, unable to stop herself from returning his smile.

"I'm afraid I would've been unable to let you go."

"Good," she said, wrapping her leg around his.

"Good?" he inquired, sliding his hand up her back.

"Yes, because I'm unable to leave you," she replied, trailing her nails down his back.

In the next moment he pulled her to him as his mind went over forty-one reason she wouldn't be able to sleep anytime soon. He settled on number twelve as he captured her lips.

* * *

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Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

**If you have time reviews are always welcome.** :)


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